


"Druin and The Remnants of Oblivion"

by Grimweaver



Series: Memoirs of a Listener [7]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Epic Battles, F/M, Family Secrets, Forbidden Love, Jealousy, Plot Twists, Secret Relationship, Team as Family, Temptation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2019-09-17 06:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16969119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimweaver/pseuds/Grimweaver
Summary: The Dark Brotherhood is presented with an unparalleled challenge. Someone in Vvardenfell has performed the Black Sacrament, this time marking a daedroth-mer hybrid that goes by the name of "Druin". He's one of the many remnants of Oblivion that have been trapped on the mortal plane since the end of the Oblivion Crisis- extremely powerful and seemingly indestructible.The success of this contract requires a journey to the Alik'r Desert, where they'll unearth a powerful Aedric sword known as 'Dragonfury'- it is the only sure means of ending Druin's life. Additionally, The Dark Brotherhood must employ the services of external groups. As if it's not enough that there are many dangers and challenges along the way, they must also endure the chaos sparked by the banding together of incompatible team members.





	1. Chapter 1

**It was the 8th of Last Seed** , a couple hours into another hot and humid Loredas evening. The resounding orchestra of midnight, which had increased in volume and intensity since the beginning of the month, reminded us all again that summer was almost over. To most, this was a bittersweet farewell song. To people like myself, who loathe this time of the year, it was a welcome song for autumn. I'd have camped out in the wilderness to listen to the sweet music, but I was more inclined to seek refuge from the insufferable weather that I had to endure in order to complete the Faelian contract in a timely manner.

 

 _The Merchants Inn_ was the best option- because it was built directly upon an entrance to the caverns bellow the city, the cold air that arose from the great depths seeped through the cracks in the stone and cooled the inn. A lot of smart whips knew to flock there during the hottest days, and I would've had no chance of scoring vacancy if Hosidius wasn't generous enough to always keep one room available for the Hero of Kvatch.

 

            After washing away a day's worth of grime, and pulling on a light cotton longshirt, I helped myself to some relaxing herbal tea in order to quiet a mind buzzing with excitement.

 

 _I began this journey with the hope of finding a sense belonging and self-worth._ I thought, as I sipped away quietly at the table and reflected on all that I have accomplished, and the strengthened bond between myself and my associates. _How wonderful and strange it is that a group of killers breathed life into this husk, that had once been hollowed out by years of service in the imperial legion. I'm valued by not just my services... they value me as a person... as Malkhai Ale'Zandre._

 

            I couldn't think about the Family without LaChance entering my mind -- I hadn't seen him since our meeting in the Arboretum. I fought the urge to indulge too much in the anticipation of his return. I was determined to not be one of those women in my father's gag-inducing romance novels that became whiny, toxic layabouts when their love interests had to be away for a long time. I told myself: " _You're gonna lace up your bootstraps, get your ass out the door, and find something to do until 'Ooh-La-LaChance' comes back."_

            I did exactly that!

 

            But, in the quiet hours between it all, I would spare time for a concerned thought and prayer for his safety.

 

_Where ever you are, I hope you're still in one piece, and that you'll come home soon._

 

            Those were my final thoughts before the tea pulled me down to the world of dreams, where I was no longer tormented by the horrors and sorrows of the past, but soothed by a heavenly place of warmth and peace. I was surrounded by the smiling faces of loved ones, even those who were long gone from this world. We were all gathered in a field of lavender, kissed by the gentle light of a sun about to set behind the Jerall Mountains- most definitely the center of the Heartlands, lounging about the shore of Lake Arrius. Everything seemed as it was in the waking world, except for a massive tree off to the western side of the lake- it had the likeness of something you’d never expect to see in this region of Cyrodiil, roughly the width and height of the White Gold Tower, with branches that were so long and thick with leaves that it formed a solid shadow large enough to cover the entire lake.

 

            I was compelled to scale its massive roots and grab onto one of its sturdy vines, swinging out with a playful jungle war cry, and plunging into the refreshingly cool water.

 

 

            Then, as my body floated back to the surface, I was pulled back to consciousness. That's when I realized that it was a chill in the room that had influenced that part of the dream.

 

            I hauled myself out of bed and fumbled around in a heavy head fog to grab a thick cotton robe that I hung on the dining chair.

 

            But, just before I dove back into the sheets, I was snagged by a familiar scent. I knew immediately that the unseasonable coldness couldn't be a stiff gust from the caverns. It was not the cruel work of my imagination.

 

            It was him.

 

            I froze in place without a word for a few seconds, fixing a wide-eyed stare at the wall ahead of me.

 

            “Long time no see… _Slayer_.” Said the familiar baritone voice, with a most sincere and loving tone.

 

            " _It is_ you!" I almost hollered. Even in my excitement, I suppressed the volume to a harsh whisper. I spun around and saw him standing near the door. There was just enough light in the room, from the lantern on the nightstand that I kept lit, to see a wide smile stretched across his face.

 

            " _Speaker! Where've_ \--" I was then struck with a massive wave of dizziness, causing me to buckle and stumble back onto the edge of the bed. I clutched my head and groaned. "--agh... forgive me... but the tea..."

            "It's quite alright, Ms. Ale'Zandre. I would have you sit anyway. There's much to discuss."

            "I'm sure there is, seeing as you've been gone for... what… about two months, now?? Very happy to see you and glad you're alright, by the way."

 

            "And I am _very pleased_ to know that all is well with you." In slow and regal steps, Lucien closed the distance between us. "I believe a ‘congratulations’ is in order. I've been away for quite some time, but I am well aware of your accomplishments within the Dark Brotherhood. Thus far, you've successfully completed three contracts and achieved an honorable rank. Your superiors have also informed me of your outstanding behavior and dedication, going above and beyond by taking on extra tasks from your Brothers and Sisters. You have my _heartfelt thanks_ for your excellence and dedication."

 

            " _Thank you_ , Speaker." I said with a light bow of the head. "Slaying that little wretch Valen was especially gratifying- I have a feeling that it wasn't luck that arranged to have that contract delivered to my hands."

            "Oh... but it _was 'Luck'_ that did." He lifted his hood up slightly to make sure I saw him wink.

            "Aah! Haha! Yes... I get it." 1

            "Of course-- you're the one that made that corny joke first."

 

            We chuckled lightly together.

 

            "Well... I believe I should move on to the reason I am here tonight." He said. "It's going to be a bit of a long story..."

            "Good! I like long stories, especially the kind that might keep ya here for more than a few minutes. But before you start, I must insist that you sit yourself down somewhere and put your feet up. Grab some noms too, if you're hungry. If I'm going to be comfortable during this visit, you will be too."

            "Very well." In slow and careful movements, Lucien brought a chair over from the table and sat directly in front of me. He then pulled his hood down, allowing the soft lantern light to fill his entire face, and enrich the already vibrant color of his lupine eyes.

 

            "I was urged by the Listener to inform you of a very important assignment," he began, "in which you _will_ have significant involvement. It is the very reason for my absence throughout most of the time that had passed since our meeting in the Arboretum. I've traveled to almost every great library of Tamriel in a restless pursuit of a means to eliminate our next target, as he seems impervious to all forms of assault."

 

            "Hold on a moment... did you say _our_ next target?"

            "Yes. This contract will require the combined efforts of the _entire Sanctuary_."

 

            "And who is this ' _unkillable_ ' guy?"

 

            Lucien brought out a book from an inner pouch and opened it up to a section he had bookmarked.

 

            " _Oh_!" I gasped. " _The Jaws of Oblivion_! The book I wrote for! You've read it?"

            "Every word." He said with a nod. "This is where it becomes relevant to our current task:

 

            ' _There, standing between me and the Sigil Stone, was a monstrosity of Oblivion that I had never encountered before. He appeared to be some sort of hybrid, between mer and daedroth. Normally, anything that gets in my way is destroyed, but he was virtually indestructible, so I had to find a way to get around him instead of through. He remains a mystery to this day- no one, not even members of various daedric cults, could tell me what this creature was or how to kill it. I know only that he went by the name of--'"_

            "Druin??" I gasped. " _That's who we have to kill_??"

 

            Lucien nodded. "Martin Septim's sacrifice closed all the gates of Oblivion, but there are stragglers trapped on the mortal plain. Druin happens to be one of them."

            " _Oh... great_." I groaned.

            "He and a considerable number of those stragglers migrated to the one place they felt most at home and fashioned it into a safehaven. Guess where that is."

            "The Red Mountain?"

            "Correct. Throughout the years that passed since, they hadn't caused any problems for the people of Vvardenfell. But... now they are making preparations for a ritual that will open a gate to a plain of Oblivion, and--"

            " _Impossible_!"

            "Not entirely... though Martin's sacrifice assured we'll never again experience an event like the Oblivion Crisis, there are yet multiple ways to open small, temporary portals. The creation of a portal with the appropriate size and duration for a group as large as the one that resides on the Red Mountain requires a ritual that must be performed on the 27th of Last Seed."

 

             "The 27th of... that's..."

            "Yes... the exact day the Crisis began, two years ago. I highly doubt that it's a coincidence."

            "So… the objective is to kill Druin before he leaves the mortal plain?"

            "That and, _ideally_ , save a child's life."

 

            I blinked. "What??"

 

            "On the 10th of Sun's Height, Druin abducted a little girl from her home in Vivec City. After exhausting all other efforts, her uncle, Ilronyr Urani, performed the Black Sacrament as a desperate means of ensuring Druin's death and the safe return of his beloved niece. I made it clear to Ilronyr that the Dark Brotherhood cannot guarantee anything but the death of a marked target- we're in the business of taking lives, not saving them. I couldn't promise to save his niece... but I assured him that, until the ritual, nothing will threaten the child's safety, as the sacrifice must be pure and unblemished. But we must not waste a lot of time- the 27th is steadily approaching, and we've many tasks between now and our journey to Vvardenfell."

 

            "I trust you’ve already come up with an idea of how we’re going to kill Druin.”

 

            “ _I have_. While at the College of Winterhold, I discovered in its library a text that speaks of a legendary Aedric blade called ‘Dragonfury’. It was gifted to Sionne At-Nezerne, a powerful champion of the Second Era, then buried with her in her family’s tomb. We’ll need the assistance of her descendant, Lady Surraiah Nurrheim, as she is the only one with the knowledge of its exact location.”

            "Oh, I know that name. She’s the current Arch-Mage of the Sentinel Mages Guild. We're going all the way out there first?”

            "It will be worth every mile, and whatever we must endure along the way; In the hands of any ordinary person, it is useless- it won't even cut through butter. However, in the hands of one who is blessed by either of the Nine Divines, it becomes a swift and sure death to _any_ daedric creature. You are the only one among us who has ever received such a blessing, so it will be up to you alone to take it from its resting place and deliver the killing strike against Druin."

            "I'm sorry to say I don't feel as confident as you are about that. There is a good chance that Akatosh revoked the blessing once I joined the Dark Brotherhood."

            "There's only one way to find out."

 

            Lucien stretched out his right hand and gestured for a confirming handshake, which seemed a bit redundant. First of all, I didn't really have a choice-- having me brought on board was an _order_ from the Listener. Second, Lucien knew that I would not pass up the opportunity to spend a considerable amount of time with him.

 

            Maybe that sly rogue just wanted to hold my hand.

 

            "Yeah! Let's do this thing!" I beamed, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. "So, when does this little adventure of ours begin?"

            "Tomorrow, at 8:00 am, we gather in the private room on the third floor of the _Tiber Septim Hotel_. I'll go over everything that I had just explained to you, but there will be other details of the mission that I have not discussed with you tonight, so do pay strict attention to _every word_."

            "You can count on it, Speaker."

 

            We both looked down and noticed we were still holding hands, and neither one of us were in a hurry to let go.

 

            "I feel confident..." Lucien said, gently stroking the back of my hand with his thumb. "...that the successful completion of this task, and your exceptional prowess, should yield rewards beyond gold and valuable items. You should have great honors and... _certain privileges_... from the Listener."

            "You mean what I think--?"

            "Yes." He said with a nod, then swallowed hard.

 

            There was a long pause before either of us uttered another word, but eyes confessed thoughts and feelings that lips could not. He leaned forward slightly, with a clear want to delve into a sensuous kiss. He stopped himself and kissed the back of my hand instead, but even that was enough to set every ounce of blood in my body ablaze. My heart was in my throat, and I lost the ability to breathe for a few seconds.

 

            "I… I should go now." He said with some uneasiness, bringing my hand back down and patting it affectionately. “We both need good sleep.”

            "Y-yes... w-we do." I stuttered.

 

            With reluctance, he released my hand and made his way to the door, then turned to face me one last time before leaving.

 

            " _Good night, Dear Sister_." He said softly.

 

            "Good night, Speaker." I replied in a voice weakened by the overwhelming excitement, watching him pull his hood back over his head, and disappear behind the door.

 

            I was doubtful about getting any sleep, after he had just jolted my entire system back into full operation.

 

            "I'm going to have to make more tea." I said aloud to myself.

 

End of Part I


	2. Chapter 2

**~*~**

            **The sweet smell of a fresh morning still hung in the air** when I left the inn. The daily bustle in the city streets had just begun, with the grocers and bakers filling their carts with produce and fresh baked goods, and a voice of an imperial courier from the middle of the Market District beginning his tireless bellowing: "Get the latest edition of the Black Horse Courier!"

 

            I headed straight for the Tiber Septim Hotel to arrive at roughly fifteen-till, out of a habit that was more than half as old as I was. Being late, or giving lateness a sliver of a chance, was not an option. I always planned around the possibility of being snagged a few times along the way by someone asking for assistance, and having to respectfully decline with some sort of long-winded answer that sounded like sincere regret for having to brush them off.

 

            Thankfully, my only human interaction before the arrival at my destination was Augusta Calidia, the lady behind the desk at the Tiber Septim Hotel. She glanced up from a large stack of papers she was going through to greet me.

 

            "Good morning and welcome back, M'Lady." She said. "Are you here for a room?"

            "No... just a meeting in the Study." I answered.

            "Ah yes... I won't keep you, then. Have a pleasant day."

            "Thank you, you too."

 

            I spared a moment to take in the surrounding luxury. Unlike most inns, this place always smelt of a most divine blend of vanilla-scented candles, wood polish, and linen soap from the laundry room that seemed to be always in use.

 

            As I neared the upper hatch of the Study Room, I could hear several familiar voices conversing.

 

             _Sounds like I'm not the only one that thought about coming here early._  I thought.

 

            I opened the door, ever so carefully to avoid hitting someone with it. Even amid the boisterous chatter, the groan from the hinges was loud enough to alert everyone to my entrance.

 

            "Little Sister!" Gogron called out, raising a mug up in the air. The others followed with a cheerful greeting all at once.

 

            I smiled as I looked about the room, noticing only the smiling faces of my kin at first. M'raaj-Dar, naturally, was the only one that was not so welcoming, flashing his teeth as he glared- a needless and irritating reminder of how much he despised me, for reasons I had yet to know.

 

            Every member of the Cheyindhal Sanctuary was there, including Levik and Lucien. Like myself, all were dressed in plainclothes. It was strange to see them in something other than Dark Brotherhood armor, Lucien especially, even though he hadn't strayed far from his normal palette. It seemed he had only exchanged his hooded robe for a fine red shirt with black and gold trim.

 

            "Welcome, Ms. Ale'Zandre." Lucien said, after a polite closure of his discussion with Valtieri, turning towards me and taking a few steps forward.

            "Good morning, Speaker." I said with a bow. I didn't want to pry my eyes away from him, but knowing that my special affections for him would become obvious if I stared too long and hard, I forced my gaze away and looked about the faces of the Brethren surrounding us. "Good morning everyone! I'm surprised to see so many here already- I'm not late, am I?"

            "Not at all. There is quite some time to spare, but since everyone is here now, I think perhaps we should begin. The extra time might prove essential."

 

            "Begin without the others, Speaker?" Ocheeva asked him.

            "Yes. Because there are things I must explain that the other group should not hear." Lucien replied, then raised his volume just loud enough to be heard over the other voices in the room. "Everyone, please-- have a seat! There are a lot of important things that we must go over before the others arrive-- come gather around and pay strict attention to every word!"

 

            "Can we still eat?" Gogron asked Lucien.

            "Yes, you may." Lucien answered.

 

            The Speaker waited patiently until all rear ends were in seats and all eyes were forward before he began.

           

            "I should start by informing you all of a slight change. The original plan was to have the Leyawiin Sanctuary join us, but due a sudden influx of contracts, the Leyawiin Sanctuary must tend to them instead, though they should be able to join us when it is time to march on the Red Mountain. This situation has put the Black Hand in the undesirable position of employing the services of an external group to assist us in acquiring the weapon."

 

            I heard some bodies shift nervously in their seats, for good reason. 'Change' could mean that we have better odds, but experience taught me that when this word is uttered while referring to the forming of large groups, you better prepare yourself for a very bumpy ride.

 

            "I know that this may come as a great  _surprise_ to everyone... I was  _taken aback_ myself, but when the Listener explained the reasons behind the choice, I had a  _clear understanding_ of it."

 

            If we have to be assured first that it's a good decision, it implies the opposite. Perhaps he did that deliberately- it did seem like he was trying to hint that ''taken aback' meant that he was less than enthusiastic. Already I knew I was not going to like the rest of the news.

 

            "Tell us who they are, already!" Teinaava demanded. He's one of the few that could speak to Lucien in this manner without backlash, as he was practically his son.

 

            "The Knights of the Thorn." He answered flatly.

           

            There was a collective sound of alarm and surprise, but it was kept down to a shallow wave of whispers. I was so shocked I couldn't even speak- I didn't even open my mouth, for fear of throwing up on Ocheeva's feet, suddenly feeling so many things at the same time; sick, angry, confused, and fearful.

 

             _The Knights of the Thorn?? Someone needs to take the Listener's skooma pipe and smash it to smithereens!_ My mind screamed. Considering all the possible choices that would've made sense-- Fighters Guild, Mages Guild, and perhaps a round up of some mercenaries gathered from the underground pockets of Tamriel-- why the Knights of the Thorn?? It was a setup for disaster, not success.

            Judging by the faces of my Brethren, I could tell they were probably thinking about the same thing. But no one dared to utter a word of protest. The Listener has decided, therefore it shall be.

 

            I then recounted the time I had to enter the Oblivion gate that was just outside the western wall of Cheydinhal, in order to find Farwil Indarys and bring him safely back to his father. A heat of rage filled my face, and my chest swelled with repressed words of anger. But out of respect, I bit my lip and kept quiet.

 

            "The Listener carefully considered all options," Lucien continued, "and decided to take advantage of the much-needed financial gain of employing the Knights of the Thorn. As most of you know, the Count of Cheydinhal has an obligation to serve the Dark Brotherhood for the rest of his life, which means that he must give unto us what is demanded of him. In this case, five of Cheydinhal's finest warriors. And, as a bonus, the count has promised 500 Septims each for the safe return of his son."

 

             _Farwil!_ I cried in my mind.  _He really is going to be one of them! This is ridiculous!_

 

            Hearing that name uttered from his lips enraged me further. Another knot formed in my stomach. The pain of being silent became all too much. I had to say something.

 

            "I beg your pardon, Speaker." I said, struggling to keep my volume and tone level. "Are... are you saying that  _the Count gave us his own son_?"

            "No, he was  _selected_  by the  _Listener_. Andel had no choice in the matter."

 

            And then, going against the voice inside my mind that told me to keep my mouth shut, I persisted.

 

            "But  _Farwil_?? I can go on for hours about why that is a very stupid idea!"

 

            There were loud gasps all about.

 

            "Oh, Malkhai... you shouldn't have..." Ocheeva said.

 

            Everyone else just looked at me, with their mouths hanging open.

 

            Lucien's only visible reaction was staring at me intensely, with that pair of soul-burning eyes that lit up with a clear expression of both surprise and vehement disapproval.

 

            But he did not break from his reverence.

 

            " _Surely_..." Lucien replied calmly, but he made sure I knew that he was giving me a firm warning in the manner he spoke.  "...y _ou do not mean to question the wisdom of the Listener...by calling their idea stupid_."

           

             _Yes!_ The stubborn, rebellious part of me wanted to bark. The truthful answer was right there in my throat, but I swallowed it and heaved the lie.

           

            "No, Speaker." I answered, but I couldn't relax the scowl that said otherwise, and that didn't go unnoticed by LaChance.

            "Good." He said, seeming to brush off my sour countenance. "Now let us move on. Discussing this decision will only waste the valuable time that is needed for me to go over how we're to conduct ourselves in the presence of the Knights,  _because there is nothing we can do about it_."

 

            I wrestled with the rage inside, trying to stuff it somewhere in the back of my mind in order to focus on further details the Speaker was about to give us.

           

            "They remain completely oblivious to our affiliation with the Dark Brotherhood. They still think that I am one of the Count's tacticians, therefore even I must maintain the illusion of being Farwil's subordinate- do not correct him if he speaks to me in a less than respectful manner. _You will not at any time call me 'Speaker'_ \- you call me either  _'Lucien' or 'Mr. LaChance'_. Likewise, when you address each other- do not use words like 'Brother' and 'Sister', refer to each other as 'friend' or 'companion'. And, as a precaution, do avoid cracking jokes about death and dismemberment."

 

            "Damn! The joke about Stump-arm Styorf is usually the best ice-breaker." Gogron groaned.

           

            Some people chuckled. I would've too, if I wasn't in such a terrible mood. Lucien continued with the dos and don'ts that even a moron with the attention span of a slaughterfish would be able to retain. I juggled between listening to that and screaming inside what I was forced to repress.

 

            "I believe that covers everything." Lucien said, after about ten minutes. "Please, all depart from the Study and help yourself further to the food in the Banquet Room."

 

            We all stood up quickly. I turned around to head for the hatch, thinking that perhaps I might be consoled a bit by three or four of those scrumptious sweetrolls that I saw on the table earlier.

            But then I heard Lucien say, in a low and venomous voice, directly behind me and inches away from my ear: " _Except you_."

 

            It sent a mixture of chilling fright and a tingling arousal down my spine. So much power in that voice, even when he's not yelling. If I wasn't supporting my weight on the back of a chair, I would've suffered the embarrassment of collapsing on the floor.

            "Yes, Speaker." I humbly replied.

 

            I looked up at the others, whose faces were filled with concern. That is when I truly began to understand how far I had stepped across the line, and I prepared myself for a verbal beating.

           

            Once the room was clear, I turned around, but did not look at him directly in the eyes.

 

            " _You really need to be more careful with your choice of words, Ms. Ale'Zandre_."  Lucien growled through his teeth. "You're walking on the edge of a sword by insulting the Listener-- you've put yourself in the danger of invoking the Wrath of Sithis, and--"

           "I didn't say the Listener is stupid! I said the idea is!"

            "Same difference!" He inched closer and took my hands into his with a firm grasp. "Please... you've come so far... don't throw it all away because of some deep-seated hatred for young Indarys and his knights."

            "It's not hate, it's fear... for the consequences of this choice!" I argued. "Farwil knows next to nothing about being a warrior! The only reason he got out of that Oblivion plane alive is because Bremman and I did most of fighting, and the Nine blessed his stupid ass with luck!"

            "So I've heard... but I've also been told that Farwil had spent a lot of time improving himself since then. Give the lad a chance."

            "But it's not just that... he... he's under the impression that I... I have romantic inclinations towards him. Ever since I saved his life, he'd fawn over me every time we crossed paths!"

            "I'm aware of that. When I told him that you would be joining us, he was as giddy as a tot. He went on for a few minutes about how he's going to pamper you sick if you would ever give him the honor of being his wife." He snickered.

            I should've been grateful that he was beginning to cool down, but I was too focused on another wave of anger his laughter had stirred.

            "It's not funny!" I roared, pulling my hands away and shaking a finger at him. "It's disgusting! And I can't believe that you would be amused by this."

            "Might as well, since we've only the power to find the humor in the situation we have no control over."

      

            Lucien sighed. 

 

            "Of course... unwelcome touch will not be tolerated.  You have every right to beat him senseless if he crosses the line. " He added.

            "I don't expect he will try. He lays on the charm, but doesn't make any attempt to get physical. I just... it makes my skin crawl every time... it's just...agh!!"

            "Why? He's quite a handsome young mer, not at all like his father. Does he have bad breath? Does he mine his nose for dried snot deposits and eat them?"

            "No-no-no... there is a reason... I just... can't explain why. I made a promise."

            "As your friend, I will respect your wish to honor that promise... but if doing so will compromise the success of this mission in any way, I will have to demand as your Speaker that you share it with me."

            "Don't worry. It won't."

            "Good. And it is clear that you will respect young Indarys at all times. I'm not telling you to like him, just work a little harder at not letting that mouth of yours talk yourself and others into trouble."

            "As clear as my understanding that you're going to somehow make it all worth enduring."

            "I'll think of something." He purred. 

 

            I nodded and smiled, though it really didn't make me feel much better.

           

            "Did the Listener consider the possibility of Farwil being filleted this time?" I asked him. "Andel will be absolutely livid if we fail to keep him safe, and I'm sure that will severely damage the relationship the Brotherhood has with him."

             "It's a possibility, but it's a better chance that we'll be able to bring him back to his father in one piece. He's only going to be with us for as long as it takes to travel to Sentinel, enter the ruins, retrieve the sword, and then return to Cheyindhal."

 

            I nodded and heaved a long sigh.

           

            "I hope I'm proven wrong." I grumbled, folding my arms over my chest. "If I may ask, how is it that the Count and the Listener are so tightly knit?"

            "That's a story for another time." Lucien answered. "Now, let's head down to the Banquet Hall. They should be arriving any moment. We'll need to be ready to greet them formally."

            "Right." I groaned, then followed after him down the shaft.

 

            Just as we were nearing the end of the ladder, we were both startled by what I consider to be one of the most irritating, blood-curdling, rage-inducing exclamations ever heard in my life.

 

             _"HUZZAH!"_

 

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

                **It was so loud and sudden that my body involuntarily flinched**. Due to the humidity that had built up in the shaft, the metal bars were dangerously slick, so the flinch caused me to lose traction and slide the rest of the way down. Having good reflexes, Lucien moved out of the way and caught me on my way down, keeping a hand on one of the bars and wrapping an arm around my waist. Wearing a pair of black leather gloves over hands larger than mine, he was able to keep a solid grip on the ladder, even with one hand.

 

                "Bugger!!" I roared, slamming my fist on the bars, caring very little that it was loud enough for the entire second floor to hear.

 

                "Are you alright?" Lucien asked.

                "Thanks to you, I'm only angry and embarrassed. I wouldn't have slipped if I had my gear on." I replied. Considering his arm around me, and being wedged tightly between the ladder and his lower torso, I thought of a few saucy things to add, but knew better this time to keep those thoughts to myself.

 

                "What about you? You alright?" I asked him instead.

                "I'm fine." He answered, making sure that I had recovered my grip on the ladder before he continued to descend. "Just what in Sithis's name was that?"

                "That, my dear Speaker, would be Farwil Indarys expressing his enthusiasm. He does that... a lot."

                "Hmmhf." Was all he had to say about that, before hopping off the end and disappearing from view as he walked down the stone steps.

 

 

                "Ah! There you are, LaChance!" I heard Farwil call out. "We were all just talking about how exciting this adventure is going to be, and that because you are going to be on the team, there's no doubt that we'll have nothing to fear!"

                "I'm flattered, thank you." Lucien said. "But really, we shouldn't get too confident. This is, undoubtedly, going to be a dangerous mission."

                "Perhaps so! But we also have the Champion of Cyrodiil helping us fight what ever dares to attack us! Where is she anyway?"

                "She is..." Lucien popped his head back into view, continuing with a soft tone, but glaring at me with his teeth bared. "...on her way down right now."

 

                I took a deep breath before climbing the rest of the way down, preparing myself for the beginning of the greatest test of patience I had ever endured.

 

                "Hail, Champion!!" Farwil beamed, after I dropped down to the landing.

 

                I forced a smile and turned around uneasily. But the smile disappeared quickly, surprised by his appearance. He had the look of someone who had seen a lot of battles. He had a few light scars on his face, allowed his fine black hair to grow past his shoulders, and sported a neatly-trimmed goatee. He also seemed taller than before, but only because he had built himself up more, not exactly the scrawny little brat I met two years ago.

 

                Overall, there was evidence of his combat experience, which did inspire some confidence, but I wasn't ready to hold high hopes just yet.

 

                "Aaah, M'Lord. It's so good to see you again!" I replied with a full bow.

                "N-n-no! I insist that you, and everyone else, will address me 'Sir-Knight'!" He replied, then knelt down on one knee. "And the Champion shall have the honor of receiving the first bow."

                "Ah no, that's not necessary... but thank you."

 

                I rose to my feet, and then Farwil did the same.

                "More than welcome!" Farwil said. "Fancy that we'll be joining forces again, for what looks to be a grand adventure!"

                "Yes... like the Oblivion plane all over again, eh?" One of my eyes involuntarily twitched, and I couldn't help grimacing a little.

 

                "Oh, not at all! This time, I promise you, I will do as the Lady commands."

                "Well!" I crossed my arms and a more sincere smile emerged. "I'm very relieved to hear you say that."

 

                I remained skeptical, but I was pleased that he at least had a little more respect for me than he did the last time we teamed up.

 

                "And to boot, we'll be going to one of the most _romantic_ places in all of Tamriel!" Farwil added with a wink. I closed my eyes and rolled them so hard, I might've scratched the bottom of my brain. "Hammerfell, land of the Redguards.. a world of fine silks, warm sand, and deep shades of crimson!"

                "Heh, yeah!" Gogron laughed. "There'll be plenty of crimson in the sand when we get through--" Telaendril slapped his shoulder. The rest of the Brethren glared at him. Gogron tried to recover, but failed horribly. "Er... when...we... er...get through all that fine red wine... um..."

                "Just shut up, Gogron." Teinaava hissed.

 

                "We're likely not to have much time for recreational activities, I'm afraid." Lucien said to Farwil. "We need to focus strictly on getting the sword and coming back as soon as possible. Remember, we've an invincible daedric lord threatening thousands of lives in Morrowind, including that of a child he has taken for the sacrifice."

                "You're right!" Farwil says. "Pray-tell, LaChance... how is it so dangerous to just get the legendary blade?"

                "I'll explain everything. First, I'll have to ask someone to please close all the doors in this room."

                "Right!" Farwil turned to the rest of us. "As father had said, this is a very hush-hush assignment. We shall give no chance to Druin's agents hearing our tactician, whom is also our navigator, go over our plans!"

 

                One of the things Lucien went over earlier, that I had partially tuned out, was the fact that The knights were led to believe the mission to defeat Druin was Andel's idea, and that he employed our services.

 

                As Gogron and M'raaj did what was asked, Farwil and Bremman cleared off one of the large tables and scooted it over to the middle of the Banquet Hall. Lucien then rolled out a map of Tamriel and had everyone circle around.

 

                "I'll start by answering Indarys's question." Lucien began. "We'll be spending a considerable amount of time in the harsh and unforgiving wilderness that is crawling with ruthless cut-throats and monstrous predators. Not even the cities are safe- we'll have to be on our guard at all times, as the criminal element is ever present and ready to take advantage of any opportunity we give them. The only time we can truly relax is when we enter the Sentinel Mages Guild. But then, once we enter the ruins, we have to face several challenges before we reach Lady Sionne's tomb. Even her descendant cannot bypass these obstacles. The texts do not specify what they are- It could be be as simple as a series of puzzles, or as complicated as an army of undead sentinels. I always hope for the simple, but plan for the complicated."

 

                "And that is one of the reasons why you work for my father!" Said Farwil, giving Lucien a few firm pats on the back. "He couldn't have hired a better mind!"

                "Thank you, Sir-Knight." Lucien replied, then bent slightly over the map and placed his finger on the _Chestnut Handy Stables_.

 

                "Our journey begins here, renting a carriage that will take us north on the Red Ring Road," he then traced his finger along the route, "turn to follow the Black Road, which winds up to our entrance into Hammerfell..."

                "Beggin' yer padrdon, sir... but why nad jus' go t' Anvil an' tdravel by ship? Eet would be much faster." M'raaj-Dar asked him.

                "That would be true if there was a ship scheduled to depart for Sentinel the same day we arrive in Anvil, but none will. Within the time it takes to wait for the earliest departure, which is five days, we'll arrive in Sentinel by carriage, should we leave here today at the desired time."

 

                Lucien continued to trace along our route in Hammerfell.

 

                "We'll travel the roads that hug the southern foothills of the great Corten Mountains, from the Stone Dale point to Taneth, heading north to Dragontail Pass, and then arrive in Sentinel at last."

                "The route passing through Corten Mont isn't shorter?" Asked Antoinetta.

                "It is-- however, bandits have taken over that settlement recently." Lucien replied. "It's unwise to take that route just to shave off thirty minutes. It will, in fact, cost us at least an hour... if not our lives."

                "Ah... good point." She agreed.

 

                Lucien straightened up and laced his fingers together.

 

                "Once in Sentinel, we must go directly to the Mages Guild, where we'll meet with Arch-Mage Surraiah Nurrheim. What we do, from then on, will be entirely up to her. I must ask you all to be on your very best behavior, and give nothing less than utmost respect towards the Arch-Mage. We are asking a lot from her by permitting our access to her family's tomb- if you understand Redguard culture and what they're taught about their dead, you know that's putting Lady Surraiah in a very uncomfortable situation. This sword is the only hope we have of killing Druin, and she is the only hope we have of using it. Don't give her any cause to change her mind. If you have something to say that you think might offend her in any way, it'd be better just to keep your tongue behind your teeth and let me do the talking. Is this in anyway unclear to anyone?"

 

                Everyone shook their heads.

 

                "Good. Does anyone have any other questions or concerns?"

 

                "Do you happen to know if _Flasks'n Shimmies_ really does exist?" One of the knights asked with a perverted grin.

                "It does." Lucien answered. He took notice of the look of shock and disgust on the faces of his adopted children and myself. It's one thing to have a history, which I was in no position to judge him for, but quite another if you've ever been a customer at that tavern.

 

                "...but um... all I can say about it is that their deep-fried shrimp is delicious, as it's the only thing I've helped myself to." Lucien added, tugging at the collar of his shirt and clearing his throat. "And anyway, I meant questions or concerns relevant to the mission, not pertaining to entertainment and other trivial matters that can be spared for later."

 

                Not a peep from anyone. There was only the sound of Gogron stuffing his face and letting out a wet burp.

 

                "Seems to me like all is understood." Farwil said to Lucien, then addressed the rest of us. "Now... you all have till 10 am, starting when we leave this hotel, to suit up for battle and get what ever weapons and supplies you'll need before we head out to the carriage-- we plan on making stops in Rihad and Taneth, where you'll have the opportunity to replenish your inventory if you need to, but pack five days worth of items, just in case! We reassemble in the Market District, near _Slash'n Smash_ , so head straight there once you've wrapped up your business. We'll go straight to the carriage once everyone is gathered again, and the quest for Dragonfury will officially begin--!"

 

 _Please don't say it. Please don't say it. Please don't say it._ I prayed in my head.

 

_"--HUZZAH!"_

 

                Bremman was not one to hide his emotions, at least while Farwil's back was turned to him. He had the face of someone that was tempted to punch Farwil in the kisser, expressing what we kept hidden behind fake smiles. 

 

~*~

 

                Once we disbanded, I returned to my little shack in the _Waterfront District_ to exchange my plainclothes for bronze armor, gather all the essential items that I could fit into a bag that was about half my height, and headed directly to the Market District.

 

                The streets were flooded with people and raucous chatter. The air was already thick with a noxious mixture of body odor, industrial smoke, and the blood of butchered livestock-- only a faint whisper of fresh harvest and baking lingered.

 

                The members of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary were the first to regroup, as they knew better than the rest what they'd risk if they were late. It should be needless to say that none of them were stupid enough to out themselves and don their Dark Brotherhood armor- rather, most of them had on simple leather, hide, and metal pieces. But, as perhaps a constant reminder to the Brethren of his superiority in an inconspicuous way, Lucien wore a black hooded shroud over dark-brown leather armor.

                I was surprised to see Vicente wearing only a green mage robe under iron armor, and not burning to a crisp when the skin of his hands and face were exposed to daylight. It was the first time I had noticed, since the lighting in the hotel was not very bright, that his vampiric features were gone. I could only surmise that an enchantment of some sort made his protection and concealment possible. 

 

                Thankfully, no one returned to the group late, so we were spared the drama of an angry assassin chewing someone's ear out for not returning on time.

 

                "So everyone's all set, then??" Farwil asked, making sure he was heard over the clamorous bustle. "You all have what you need? No one's forgetting anything important??"

 

                There was a simultaneous confirmation from everyone of being ready to leave- verbal responses and quiet nods.

 

                "I believe we're all ready, Sir-Knight." Lucien said to Farwil.

                "EXCELLENT! Then let us move out and board the carriage to Hammerfell!! _HUZZAH!"_

 

                Lucien was the only one that wasn't cringing, but he did make tight fists at his sides.

 

 

                We hadn't walked more than a few yards when, from somewhere behind us, there was another ear-piercing cry that was even worse than that of Farwil's, curdling the blood and rattling the brain cells of every individual within an earshot.

 

_"BY AZURA! BY AZURA! BY AZURA! I'T'S YOU!!!"_

 

                "Oh no." I almost whimpered, wishing I hadn't wondered if things could possibly get worse, because it is at that precise moment they do.

 

                We all turned around and searched for the source of that horrid sound, just in time to see a yellow-haired bosmer running towards us at full speed.

 

                "What the hell--?" Lucien growled, grabbing the handle of his sword and drawing it out a few inches, readying himself to strike the wood elf.

                "Put that thing away, Lucien!" I told him. "It's alright! He's just a kid!"

 

                " _IT'S THE GRAND CHAMPION OF THE ARENA!!_ " The bosmer squealed, stopping within a few inches in front of me, flailing as he gleefully danced and cackled.

 

                His name was  Dorandil Fernhedge, but everyone in the city affectionately called him 'The Adoring Fan'. When I had left the Imperial City Arena, on the night I had slayed Agronak and assumed the title of 'Grand Champion', he was standing right outside the entrance, lit up with an irritating level of exuberance. I made no attempt to mingle with him, only smiling and greeting him politely before walking away. But he ran after me and wouldn't stop groveling and pleading for me to let him follow me everywhere. Though grateful for his appreciation, I had to decline. I was in no mood to be around people, as I have explained before.

                Usually, when official business of some sort compelled me to return to the Imperial City, we would end up crossing paths again, and he'd greet me the same way every time-- rushing me as he flapped his arms and cried out with that annoying high-pitched voice.

                I made the mistake of accepting his company and assistance once, when I needed an extra pair of arms to help me carry new purchases to the Waterfront house. He was indeed very helpful, and never once complained about the laborious tasks that I mounted on the boy to discourage him ever pestering me again. However, he wore out my patience quickly, so I made up my mind to ditch him someplace before I was irritated to the point of acting on my growing inclination to arrange a drowning accident. I had him follow me into the _Elven Gardens District_ , told him to wait for me by the well at the north end while I wrapped up some business in the area, and then sneaked out of the city.

                That was the last time I saw him (until that first day of our journey to Sentinel, that is).

 

                "Hello, Dorandil." I said, and didn't even try to sound enthusiastic.

                " _I am so sorry! So very very sorry_!" The wood elf cried, dropping to his knees and clutching my feet. "Forgive me! I know you told me to wait in the _Elven Gardens_ , and I did as you told me! I waited, then waited, then waited some more, and--"

                "Woah-woah-woah! You mean to tell me you actually committed yourself to waiting there all this time?"

                "Yes, leaving for only a few minutes at a time to piddle, wash up, eat, and drink. Then, this morning, someone told me they'd seen you heading into _Market District_! I just had to come! I had to! I couldn't stand the wait a moment longer! I hope you can understand and forgive me!"

 

                "Sure." I said with a shrug. "Now, I must kindly ask you to run along now. I'm--"

                "Going on an adventure!" He squeaked, then circled around the others as he bounced. "Oh, you are all so lucky!! I wish I could go with you!"

 

                "Trust me... _you do not_." Lucien snarled as he coiled back from him.

                "I know, I know! I imagine it will be quite perilous, but I am willing to risk everything! PLEASE! I'll do anything you want me to do- I'll wash your laundry, clean equipment and cookware, trap small game, cook your meals--"

                "The group _has a master provisioner_." Lucien scoffed, uncharacteristically boastful all of the sudden.

                "But surely there'll be days that you will not be able to throw together a fine meal, and on those days I can be the one to do it! I pledge myself completely to all the services you will require, and all I ask in return is the honor of basking in the glorious presence of our esteemed Champion! _Please!_ "

 

                "Well..." Farwil said, stroking his goatee as he gave it some thought.

 

                "NO!" Teinaava shouted. "Er... I mean... with all due respect, Sir-Knight, if you permit the rest of the group to cast a vote, mine is no!"

                "He's offering to do all these chores for us without charge. Why not?"

                " _I can tell you why not_!" Vicente cut in. "That infernal bellowing, flapping, screeching-- It will draw unwanted attention from predatory men and beasts, and drive us all into utter madness!"

                "I'm sorry!" Dorandil cried, dropping down to his knees and assuming prayer position. "I'll be as quiet as a mouse, if that is your wish! I can be, I really can! Please, let me go with you!"

                Lucien marched up to Farwil, almost daring to challenge his authority in the way he stood over the young dunmer and urged him with a deep rumble in his voice. "I must advise against this, Sir-Knight. And if you do not heed my advice, I pray that perhaps you'll leave the decision up to the Champion."

 

                "Nonsense!" Farwil argued with a haughty, dismissive wave. "There's no need to discuss this further! I've made up my mind. It would be most beneficial if we gain extra assistance without the cost of a single Septim!"

 

                " _So does this mean I get to come with you??"_ Dorandil exclaimed, jumping back to his feet and clapping his hands.

                "If you're true to your word about keeping the volume down to a reasonable level, and doing what ever is asked of you." Farwil replied.

                " _YES! I PROMISE_! I PROMISE I will be EVERYTHING you expect me to be, and more!"

                "Well then, my friend." Farwil stretched his arms out wide. "Welcome aboard!"

 

                There were groans and disapproving mumbles about. I just stood there, frozen solid in place, as a vision of the many different ways this could to lead to utter failure flashed before my eyes.

 

                "Alright then! I believe that we are ready now!" Farwil called out. "Onward to the Handy Stables! HUZZ--"

 

                _"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!_ " I screamed, reaching my breaking point again.

               

                Heads turned and bodies whirled around, as they all shot looks of bewilderment at me.

                "Um... what's the matter, M'Lady?" Farwil asked, concerned.

 

                I was dangerously close to telling him exactly what the 'matter' was, until I saw the way Lucien scowled at me.

 

                "Th... there's a rock in my boot." I lied. "I... I'll just get it out when we're in the carriage."

 

                "Ah... alright." He replied, then turned back around and led the march towards the East Market Gate.

 

                _So begins 'Day One' of at least twelve... possibly more_. I grumbled inside, trailing behind a bit as I faked an uncomfortable walk all the way to the stables, with Dorandil staying close to my side while he rambled on about various Arena nonsense.

 

End of Part III


	4. Chapter 4

~*~

 

                **Until about half way up the Black Road, most of us kept quiet** , sipping fresh coffee from our mugs while staring out at the beautiful rolling hills and lush green forests that the two-horse carriage was taking us away from. Dorandil was true to his word about not being too loud, but he wouldn't stop talking or sit still for one second.

 

                "Aren't you going to miss it?" He asked me-- one of at least a hundred questions he had asked since the Market District.

                "Miss what?" I wearily replied.

                "Cyrodiil! It will probably be a long time before we ever see her again."

                "I'm okay with that." I answered with a shrug.

               

                That wasn't entirely true. I was more than happy to put miles between myself and a lot of things in Cyrodiil, but never its breathtaking landscape. My heart already began to ache when we were at the top of the steep climb and beheld a sight that I imagined would make a wonderful painting in the drawing room of a noble's grand villa; the White Gold Tower framed at the dead center by grassy slopes, dense flora, and surrounded by gold-tinted mists rising from the bay. I tuned out Dorandil's ceaseless chatter, keeping my eyes on that beautiful scenery until it was beneath the line of sight.

 

                _It will all still be there when we get back._ I told myself. _You're in the company of loved ones and we're going to share exciting adventures in an exotic place!_

                "Excuse me... Champion?" I heard one of the Knights ask. Dorandil respectfully shut his mouth, finally, but started to hum an old Valenwood tune.

                I pried my eyes away from the road behind us and looked over at the Knight. He leaned forward with a hand stretched out.

                "I don't believe we've been properly introduced." He said. "My names is Marcus Rex."

                "Malkhai Ale'Zandre." I replied, then shook his hand with a smile. "Nice to meet you."

                "Jorrundhe Fjorgard, here. And that meat sack over there is Morren Travierre." Said another, pointing at the Knight taking snooze off to his left. "I trust you've already met Bremman Senyan."

                "I have."

               

                Bremman and I exchanged nods.

 

                For a long time, Farwil had trouble finding people that fit the profile of an ideal Knight of the Thorn. The first batch did nothing but annoy the town guards and lie about performing great heroic deeds- well, fate saw to it that their lies caught up with them, as you all know by now.

                The people Farwil selected to replace the ones that perished in the Oblivion plane proved to be just as terrible. They lied to the Black Horse Courier about getting involved in Farwil's rescue mission, when they hadn’t even been recruited yet! Mariana Ancharia of the _Cheydinhal Bridge Inn_ reported their false claim on credit to the Courier about a week after the ' _Cheydinhal Heir Saved!_ ' copies were sent out, stating that her servers were on their feet fetching ale for those drunkards all throughout that night. Since they were stripped of their Knighthood and shipped out to Leyawiin, to spend the rest of their working days as town guards, it was evident that their boldface lies did not sit well with Farwil either. Got to give him credit for wanting to preserve honor and virtue within his order.

                Finally, after about a year or so, Farwil started looking in the right places for potential- who knew that you'd have better luck looking in the Fighters Guild Halls instead of the local taverns!

                Three of those good people that filled the positions were sitting right in front of us. They seemed nice people at least, but I wasn’t ready to regard them as anything but Farwil’s steel-plated nursemaids until their actions on the battlefield told me otherwise.

 

                "So... uh... you all like... food?" Asked Gogron, the next of the Family to start warming up to the 'outsiders'.

 

                They all smiled and nodded, amused by the awkwardness, but nice enough to just answer the question without poking fun at him.

 

                "Yeah... we like food." Answered Marcus, trying not to laugh. "I uh... hear that Rihad has lots of it. Maybe we'll get us some of those kabobs I keep hearing about when we drop into town, huh?"

                "That's one of the many tantalizing items that I look forward to _sinking my teeth into_!" Vicente chimed in, then looked at Dorandil with hungry eyes. "Starting with a small appetizer, perhaps."

               

                He was joking... I think.

 

                From that moment forward, most of the group was involved in the conversation-- the ice between the Knights and the Family began to melt and the time that passed felt like minutes instead of hours. What a relief it was that we were all getting along better than I expected we would-- also astonishing that, long after the scenery changed, and the wind in our faces grew hotter and smelt of palm fronds and hibiscus, we hadn't moved on to a different topic! And how ironic it was that the only one who hadn't said a word the entire time was Lucien LaChance, the self-proclaimed 'Master Provisioner'! He was more inclined to just keep a silent watch over our surroundings.

                The only time he seemed distracted from the scenery was when Farwil got up from his original spot near the front and sat right next to me. Lucien gave him the stink eye of an alpha dog watching a subordinate trying to sneak a bite from its food dish. I could've sworn I had even heard a low growl rumbling in his chest, just under the sound of the wooden wheels rolling along the rocky road.

               

                "I say nothing tops smoked venison, complemented with a glass of Surilie 399!" Farwil said to Fjorgard, stretching his arms out before resting them on the back of the seat, and turning his head to look at me. I swelled with anger and prepared myself to make him eat gauntlet the moment any part of him touched me. LaChance looked ready to do the same. "However, it cannot be thoroughly enjoyed without the company of a beautiful lady."

                "Well, Sir-Knight..." I replied, scooting as far away from him as I can, almost squishing Dorandil. "Maybe one of these days you will find yerself one."

                "I think I have already." Farwil replied, with more aggression in his flirtatious tone. "Tell me, Champion... is there anything in this entire world that entices you... that you've never had the luxury of experiencing? Name it... whatever it is... and I will do it to you."

                "What??" I barked with a scowl, leaning farther away.

                "Do it _for_ \-- er... _get it for_ you!!" He corrected in a panic. "I'm sorry...um..."

               

 

                What I wanted was to just flat out tell him that I had absolutely no interest in pursuing a romantic relationship with him. The only thing holding me back was knowing that he would demand and explanation for why. By answering him truthfully, I would break the promise I made to someone who forced me swear I would tell him when the timing was right. Lying would only put myself and everyone else in a worse situation. 

 

                I wrestled with the temptation to blurt out what was on the tip of my tongue and took a few deep breaths to work out the lump in my throat and ease the sickness in my stomach. I looked at LaChance, who was burning a hole through Farwil with a calm yet hateful glare, and that's when the answer came to me.

 

                "Well..." I began, grinning devilishly. "...come to think of it, I've got a hankering to drink up a certain stout _imported from High Rock_ ; crafted with only the finest ingredients that the region has to offer, _aged_ to _absolute perfection_ , and poured into a _tall, black_ bottle. It's called ' _Midnight Velvet_ ', and I expect it to be everything I prefer in a drink: _thick... hard... robust... and flavorful_. "

               

                Lucien's eyes snapped from Farwil and locked onto mine, filling up immediately with the awareness that I wasn't really talking about a beverage. I had to break eye contact for a few seconds, about to lose it and start laughing at the stunned look on his face, which was beginning to turn a very bright shade of red.

 

                "I often imagine the perfect evening that I _consume_ every drop..." I pressed on, reveling in reaction I was getting from him. "...within the hour that all is quiet, and only faint moonlight fills the room; I'll sit back, close my eyes, and let it _warm_ every ounce of my blood as it _enters_ my system and carries me _long_ into a night of absolute bliss."

 

                Lucien bit his lower lip to discourage the wide, bashful grin on his face. When that failed, he hid it by turning his head away and pulling a part of his hood over the lower half of his face.

               

                "Well..." Farwil replied, clearing his throat. "I'll... uh... see what I can do."

                "Thanks, but don't bother." I said, covering my mouth when I felt the tingly giggles again. "I, uh... have one already reserved."

               

                There was no further reaction from LaChance that I could see.

 

                Vicente looked puzzled. He was originally from High Rock too, and it looked like he was about to say something along the lines of: "I'd never heard of such a thing!"

 

                "That does sound fine, indeed." Bremman said, just as Vicente opened his mouth. What a relief! "But I say nothing makes ya all warm and fuzzy inside like a Cyrodiilic Dinner Pie! It is the best comfort food in Tamriel! Tomato sauce, grated cheese, diced ham and chicken-- all spread out over a circle of bread and baked in a brick oven for only thirty minutes!"

                "Hmmf!" Antoinetta scoffed. "It's alright, but I wouldn't say it's the best!"

                "Ha! Your opinion of good food doesn't count for anything, Antoinetta!" Teinaava blasted. "Anyone that has a bite out of any of your concoctions ends up camping overnight in the privy!"

               

                The whole carriage lit up with laughter.

 

                "I say, you have some nerve!" Antoinetta barked, standing up and shaking a fist at Teinaava, but he just kept laughing because he knew she wouldn't dare strike a Brother.

 

                In the midst of the laughter, Lucien turned his had back around. His smile had vanished, and he seemed unsettled about something, the way his eyes darted nervously from one side of the surrounding space to the other.

 

                " _EVERYONE!!_ Quiet, please!!" The Speaker bellowed, as he gripped the hilt of his shortsword. "Coachman! STOP!"

               

                All did as Lucien ordered and gave him their undivided attention.

 

                "What??" Farwil asked him.

                "Listen." Lucien replied.

               

                There was only the sound of the wind whistling through the canyon and narrow crevasses.

 

                "Listen to what?" Asked Jorrundhe.

                "Exactly." Lucien answered. "There's nothing but the wind."

                "It's the desert, LaChance. What would you expect?"

                "Even here, there should be a constant sound and presence of wildlife. In the trees... at the edge of the water... in the canopy. But it is all abandoned. Something has scared them all into hiding."

                "Um... us, probably." Said Morren with a shrug, looking doubtful that it was nothing more than paranoia playing tricks with Lucien's mind.

 

                "He's rdight." M'raaj-Dar agreed. His ears twitched and folded back. "Derdr ees somet'ing wdrong. I sense eet too. But... how on Nirn could a human--?"

                " _Everyone, be on your guard_!" Lucien ordered. "There's--"

 

 

                Just then, a small army of men and women dressed in layers of sand-colored clothes descended upon us from the ledges of the canyon walls, each sliding down a length of rope with their scimitars raised high in one hand, filling the entire space around us with their battle cries.

 

                "Bandits!!" Farwil exclaimed, jumping to his feet and drawing his sword.

                "YEAAHAHHAAAA!" Gogron cackled madly, as he pumped his massive axe over his head. "I was wondering when the fun was about to begin!!"

                A lot of us grinned, admiring his enthusiasm.

               

                Dorandil and the coachman took cover in the hold below while the rest of us sprung out of the carriage and met the ambush with a fearless, aggressive defense. Some of them hadn't even reached the end of their ropes before they met their quick and gruesome deaths. The sound of clashing metal and death cries rang throughout the canyon. A barrage of arrows flew from our archers, most of them hitting their targets dead on. Within minutes, half of the lot were already vulture lunch.

                Focused on killing the rest of the bandits, and keeping myself and others from being killed, I wasn't able to observe the fighting style of each person-- I did catch glimpses of Gogron making hamburger patties out of about two or three at a time, M'raaj-Dar frying a dozen or so with blasts of lightning, and Ocheeva and Teinaava using their claws and teeth to tear through flesh.

 

                It seemed we were going to win this fight without the cost of more than twenty minutes of travel time and a few minor injuries. Even the Knights seemed to handle themselves well, though I suspected they were working harder at keeping Farwil alive than fighting our foes.

 

                " _Marcus!! Look out!!_ " I heard Fjorgard scream.

 

                I turned around just in time to see one of the large brutes of the bandit gang swing his warhammer into Marcus, sending the imperial flying hard into a large boulder. I thought for sure that he was dead, noticing his cuirass caved in and watching his limp body drop down to the ground.

               

                " _NO! MARCUS!_ " Farwil roared, before moving to confront the brute. " _OBLIVION TAKE YOU, YOU BASTARD!_ "

 

                Something unforeseeable happened at that very moment. Farwil conjured from his hands a massive ball of fire, as large in diameter as he was tall, and completely incinerated his target.

 

                _Holy crap! He's a mage??_ I thought, staring in disbelief.

 

                Farwil then rushed over and helped Marcus onto his feet. Though not exactly the picture of great health, Marcus was still alive. Farwil pulled one of his arms over his shoulders and turned to walk him to the cart, unaware that his certain death was running toward him a few yards away.

                               

                " _FARWIL! BEHIND YOU!_ " I screamed, racing to intercept the enemy, and frantically pointing at his attacker when he looked up at me. " _NO! Don't look at me, dumbass! BEHIND YOU!!"_

                Farwil finally turned back around to see the man rushing him. He dodged the killing strike just in time, but Marcus's dead weight on his left side caused them both to fall and tumble a good way down a steep bank.

               

                I threw a few curses as I engaged the brute, using his own weight and strength to disorient and knock him off balance. He fell hard against large jagged rocks that protruded from the ground. Before he could recover his mallet, which he'd lost his grip on when he tried to stop himself from falling, I grabbed it and used it to squash his head like a grape, splashing the canyon wall with blood and bits of grey matter.

 

                Since there was no point in checking to make sure the bugger was dead, I immediately looked down at Farwil and Marcus, lying motionless at the foot of the bank. Bremman and Morren had already rushed over to check on them.

               

                "Are they alright??" I called out.

                "Aye!" Morren answered with a wave. "We'll take care of them! Go on'n get the rest of those sods, now!"

               

                I heaved a sigh of relief, then turned around to scan the area for more threats. There was only one left, and he was fighting Lucien. A handful of us charged forward to help him, but before we made it even halfway to the scene, Lucien had already made quick work of him.

 

                As he let out a primal roar that rippled through my blood, and moved with inhuman speed, Lucien severed both forelegs from the man's knees, dropping him like a giant sack of potatoes onto the sand. The bandit writhed and screamed, but then hobbled towards Lucien and continued to thrash his sword at him, determined to fight until his dying breath.

               

                "Admirable." Lucien spat, right before he relieved the attacker of his arms as well, sending him into another fit of agony.

 

                " _LaChance!_!" I heard Jorrundhe call out as he ran over to join us. " _Are you alright??_ "

                "I'm fine!" Lucien answered him, but kept his cold stare and point of his sword on the assailant. "How is everyone else?"

                "Farwil was knocked out cold, but he's fine. Marcus took a heavy blow to the chest, but we got a potion in him on time, so he won't be at the feet of Kynareth just yet."

 

                Lucien acknowledged this with a nod.

               

 

                "LaChance? As in... Lucien LaChance?" Coughed the limbless man. "No... not that scrawny little fetcher..."

 

                Lucien just stared down at him without a word for a moment, then used the tip of his sword to pull the man's head wrappings away from his face.

               

                "By the sands... it really is you... isn't it?" The man snickered between his grunts. "My how you've grown... you've also greyed a little bit... but... you look good for... what are you now, thirty-eight? Time's been kind to you."

                "Not as kind as it could've been." Lucien replied.

 

                "You know this man??" Jorrundhe asked.

                "Amir Hashiid... _mercenary filth_!!" Lucien growled. "Which means this was not a bandit raid. This was an assassination attempt!"

 

                Lucien prepared to run him through.

               

                "Killing me will not undo what was done!" Amir shouted. "It will not return your fa--"

               

                In a flash, Lucien plunged his sword deep into Amir's right shoulder. Another explosion of screams and curses erupted from the mercenary. 

 

                Lucien knelt over him as a crooked grin emerged, delighting in his pain. But Amir's screams died down quickly, and a bubbly chuckle fluttered through the pool of blood forming in his mouth.

                "You... missed." The mercenary huffed.

                "No... I did not." Lucien replied. "Indeed, you will die, there is no question of that... but not before I get some information from you. I am willing to spare you further suffering and end your life quickly... however... if you do not cooperate, I can prolong the process of succumbing to these grave injuries, subjecting you to hours of everything you deserve... _plus more_!"

 

                "Do what you will... I've sworn on my ancestors' tomb that I will never bet--!"

More screams shot out from Amir as Lucien began to slowly twist the blade.

 

                " _Answer my questions, Hashiid_!" LaChance growled. "Who sent you to kill us and why do they want us dead?"

               

                Still no answer from the mercenary, only labored breathing through his teeth.

 

                Lucien pulled up the skirt of his cuirass, revealing a dagger he had strapped to his thigh. I was distracted from the brutality just then, admiring the way the leather hugged the contours of his firm, deliciously rounded backend. I hid my grin behind a hand, pretending to be disturbed by the interrogation.

 

                "You think what you're feeling right now is pain?" Lucien growled in Amir's ear. "This is but a taste of what I am capable of inflicting upon you... and the longer you are silent, the worse it will get. I'm going to ask you again: _who sent you all to kill us... and why do they want us dead??_ "

               

                The mercenary was stubborn yet to take his answers to the grave, giving nothing to Lucien but a thick, bloody spit in the face. Some members of the Family snickered, not at Lucien getting spat on, but at the world of hurt they knew Amir was in for.

 

                Lucien whipped the dagger out of its sheath and plunged it into Amir's left shoulder, driving out of him another wave of horrific cries.

 

                " _WHO AND WHY, AMIR?_?" Lucien repeated, twisting both blades at the same time. "YOU WILL ANSWER ME!!"

 

                Echoes of Amir's screams and Lucien's thunderous roar rang throughout the canyon. Even the most ruthless and cold-hearted of the Family were visibly shaken at this point.

_"LUCIEN! Please, STOP THIS!_ This is too extreme, even for the likes of him!!" Bremman called out from the carriage. It was all he could do, as Lucien had authority over the other Knights in Farwil's stead. Indarys, the only one that was in the position to give Lucien orders, still laid unconscious in the carriage.

 

                "Someone hired these thugs to murder us! It's only a matter of time before their employer learns of their failure and sends more out! We need to arm ourselves with the knowledge of 'who' and 'why', so that we are better prepared for the next attempt! I will do whatever it takes, for however long it will have to be, to get him to talk!"  
                "As you have made it abundantly clear before, we don't have a lot of time to spare!" Bremman argued.  
                "I didn't say we have to stay here!" Lucien grabbed Amir's turban and tightened it around his neck. "We can tie him to the back of the carriage and drag him over the coarse terrain the rest of the way!!"

 

                It was just then that Farwil was beginning to come to, groaning as he covered his face with his hands and slowly sat up.

 

                "It's alright, Sir-Knight. The battle's over." Morren said to him. "There's one left alive... Lucien's getting him to spill some info."

                "Is... is that what all the screaming is about?" He asked.

 

                Bremman nodded.

 

                Lucien turned back to his work, driving the blades farther into his flesh as he twisted them again. It was all too much for the mercenary. He finally gave Lucien what he wanted from him.

 

                " _DRUIN!" Amir screamed. "_ WE WERE SENT BY _LORD DRUIN!_ TO STOP YOU FROM GETTING DRAGONFURY! NOW FOR THE LOVE OF MEPHALA, _STOP_!"

 

                "By the Nine!" Farwil exclaimed, over a wave of gasps and other sounds of surprise.

               

                Lucien went quiet again, absorbing the shock of this answer without even a change of expression. He didn't relax his grip on the blades, but questioned him further without inducing any more pain.

               

                "Good. Now... tell me... how does Lord Druin know about our quest for Dragonfury?"

                "I swear, I do not know how he knows! But... whoever it was that informed Druin of your mission... he provided a perfect description of each one of you, and knew exactly what routes you were planning to take." Amir grinned. "It seems... that someone in your ranks... has betrayed you!!"

 

                Lucien shot up and whirled around, looking like he was about to pounce on one of us.

               

                All at once, the group voiced their denial of the accusation: "I would never!", "No!" "It wasn't me, I swear!", "Don't look at me!", "Not I!", "Not me!"

 

                "We're not the only ones you've shared these details with, remember." Ocheeva reasoned. "Count Indarys, for one--"

                "You dare to accuse my father of betrayal??" Farwil blasted at Ocheeva.

                "Certainly not! I'm saying that perhaps there is a traitor in the castle. Someone that overheard Lucien share his plans with your father."

               

                "Unlikely... but... not entirely impossible." Farwil sighed. "We'll have to tell father to conduct an investigation once we return to Cheydinhal."

 

                "Whoever it is, they better start praying that I don't find them out! Because the Count will grant me permission to make them suffer a fate worse than that of this miserable wretch!"

 

                Lucien yanked the blades out of Amir's shoulders and began to hack away at his body, butchering him alive. Some of the Knights collapsed and threw up on their boots, nauseated by not only the ghastly sight, but by also the way Amir sobbed and pleaded tearfully for it to end.

 

                "Dear gods!!" Farwil cried, clutching his throat. "Lucien, _STOP IT!"_

                Lucien didn't stop, or even slow down.

_"LUCIEN!! As the Count's son, I order you to stop this NOW_!" Farwil urged again. "My father would never approve of this level of savagery against _anyone_!"

 

                Lucien halted and dared to glare at Farwil through the blood dripping down from the rim of his hood. But he snapped out of wherever he had gone in the heat of the moment and obeyed Farwil's command.

 

                "As you wish... _Sir-Knight_." He huffed, with a tone dripping with disdain.

 

                In one quick and powerful swing, Lucien cut Amir's head clean off his shoulders, then spat on his corpse before storming off to a nearby creek to quickly rinse off the blood from his armor and weapons.

 

                The Family and I just stood in disturbed silence for a while, staring down at Amir’s tattered corpse in the sand, and then each other. I thought back to the evening I was warned about his unpredictable nature... about the savage within the gentleman. If I had any suspicion of over-exaggeration, it was long gone after he had displayed it before my own eyes.

 

 

                "We should probably head off soon. Rihad isn't far, but nightfall is approaching." Bremman pointed out to Farwil as he looked up at the sky, which was changing from a pastel blue into an intense reddish-orange.

 

                "We will." Farwil replied, then looked over at Lucien, who was crouching low in the shallow water while he gingerly wiped the surface of his leather armor with a rag. "As soon as LaChance finishes washing up."

 

                I turned to Gogron and whispered: "So... was that anything like what happened to the 'Insubordinate Brother' you spoke of?"

                Gogron shook his head, then whispered back: "This was worse. For reasons we'll probably never know, that man earned himself hate beyond what I've seen in LaChance before."

 

                At that time, I could only imagine what the reason must've been.

 

                "Hey, you two-- We're not supposed to talk about that stuff, remember?" Teinaava whispered, kneeling next to one of the dead mercenaries. "Come on! Let's see if these goons dropped anything interesting while we wait for Lucien!"

                Gogron and I nodded and, still shaken by what we had witnessed, exchanged very few words while we joined Teinaava in his little treasure hunt.

 

End of Part IV


	5. Chapter 5

**~*~**

                Father had described the major cities of Hammerfell in great detail to me many times, and he had multiple paintings of them in the house, but neither the paintings nor my imagination had done them justice. When I had pictured Rihad, my mind was limited to streets of mottled grey stone, edged by an array of desert flowers huddled around palm trees; the sandstone walls of intricate structures and their tall copper-colored domes; people dressed in vibrant, shimmering fabrics with eye-popping patterns--most often, the patterns would signify the wearer’s house of birth, or a significant life achievement.

                It was all of that and ten times more! It had changed dramatically since the artist had painted the city on the canvas that was framed and hung above our fireplace (3E 406). A lot of the original buildings still stood, but It was surrounded by many new ones. An enormous fountain had been placed near the eastern entrance, in the middle of a wide street that had become a center point of day-to-day gatherings and seasonal events. From where we had entered the city, I could see several gardens evenly spaced between buildings. There were indeed palms and the exotic flowers of my imaginings, but also many species of plants I thought could only exist in a place like Artaeum.

                We had arrived at a busy time of the month. Two significant holidays-- _Feast of the Tiger_ on the 14th, and _Koomu Alezer’i_ on the 17th-- were soon approaching. Judging by how crowded it was in the streets, I wasn’t feeling very optimistic about us finding rooms at any of the inns. We had to make that a top priority, after securing the horses and carriage at the _Sandfire Stables_ and having the valuable contents of the hold locked up in a storage facility near the gate.

                “I think we’ll be lucky if we get a broom closet.” I told Ocheeva.

                “I don’t think we even have that much luck.” She replied with a sighed. “We might have to make camp instead.”

                “Absolutely not! I’ve had sand filling up in every nook and cranny since Stonedale and I’m caked with ghastly filth! I will not stand to be out in that blasted wilderness a moment longer!”

                “Why should you be comfortable?” Teinaava growled at Antoinetta. “At least your human skin has a higher tolerance to this dry heat than ours.”

                “Both of you stop your whining. I’d take dry skin and sand in my ass over smelling like Leyawiin’s back alley trash.”

                Lucien whirled around and shot: “Enough! We will camp out if we have to, and I’ll not hear another complaint from anyone!”

                “Actually, we _won’t_ have to.” Farwil told Lucien.

                Lucien turned back around and gave Farwil a puzzled look. “How are you so certain?” He asked.

                “The Fighters Guildhall. That place is enormous- I’m sure there are plenty of rooms available. As a member, I can stay for free-- and there’s a good chance that, if I can’t persuade them to let you all stay at no cost, we’ll only have to pay a small fee.”

                “ _How small_ is this fee?” Lucien asked him, skewing his brow.

                “Smaller than the cost of what is available outside the guildhall, I am certain. Come on.”

                We followed Farwil up a few flights of stairs wedged between homes and businesses, to a much ritzier level of the city. I would’ve mistaken the building that he was leading us up to for a prince’s vacation house; it was an impressive six-story cylindrical tower made of polished white stone, and its circumference was roughly that of the Imperial City Arena; it too was topped with a tall dome, but made of orange-colored glass.

                Two guards stood at the entrance and asked for one of us to show proof of our membership. Farwil reached into the shirt under his cuirass and pulled up one of the medallions that hung around his neck, made of gold and embossed with the widely-recognized symbol of the Fighters Guild. The guards exchanged nods and allowed us to enter.

                My breath was stolen away the moment the door swung open, revealing the luxurious interior of the main floor. Its wide open space was almost entirely dedicated to dining, lounging, tabletop games, and a stage for dancers and musicians. Though there were a few partition walls here and there, they served their purpose of providing privacy without denying the senses of the comforting atmosphere of the well-polished and heavily detailed room-- the dark, dappled stone floor, mahogany molding and paneling, complemented by the deep burgundy on the wall and high vaults.

                Near the opposite side, there was a large grill at the center of an open kitchen. Along the stone counter that encircled the kitchen were bar stools made of dark iron and cushioned with treated red leather. Four steps up was another ring of lounging space; calmly lit with tea lights at the center of tables made of dark-stained oak, centered between sofas upholstered with shimmering red satin and trimmed with multi-colored patterns. A set of stone stairs with sturdy iron railings, on either side of this massive room, curved along the outermost walls.

                “Welcome to the Rihad Fighters Guild.” Farwil cooed with a grin, then with cool confidence walked up to the front desk, which was only about twelve steps in front of us.

                “Well! Hello again, Sir-Knight!” One of the clerks beamed. “What brings you back to Hammerfell?”

                “Just the usual business.” He answered vaguely, mindful of leaving out all the details. “We’ve run into some trouble on the road, as you can see, so we need a place to refresh and rest.”

                By this time we were well over the injuries that we had sustained during the battle, thanks to healing potions. Marcus was only recovering mentally from his traumatic struggle to breathe for the few minutes it took to get him to the cart. But we were nevertheless battle-weary, soiled, and irritable. Even Dorandil had been traumatized into silence the whole rest of the way to town.

 

                “Ah! Alrighty, let’s see…” The clerk said, pulling up a box filled half-way of registration forms, with numbers written on the tabs of the dividers. At a quick glance at the many dividers without papers between them, relief washed over me. “You’re in luck- plenty of vacancy. I’ll just need each one of you to sign a slip before give you the keys to your rooms. Also, we’ll require a fee for non-members, as you well know.”

                “Yes. Any chance that you might make an exception for the Champion of Cyrodiil?” Farwil asked her.

                 I shook my head and waved my hands. “Oh no, Farwil… you don’t have to--”

                “Yes, I do!” He insisted.

                “The who?” The clerk asked.

                “You don’t mean to tell me you’ve never heard of the one who closed the Oblivion gates and saved thousands of lives-- who, along with Martin Septim, called forth the avatar of Akatosh and defeated Mehrunes Dagon-- Ms. Malkhai Rei Ale’Zandre??”

               “Oh! Ale’Zandre! That’s all I need to know.” She said, bowing apologetically. “Yes, we’ll make an exception. The city of Rihad still owes a debt to House Ale’Zandre.”

                All of them eyed me curiously.

               “My father.... Nahzadir.” I told them, then said to the clerk as I stepped up to the desk and filled out a slip: “I don’t suppose you’ve him recently.”

               “Sorry to say that the last time I did was probably about six months before I heard about him disappearing.” She replied. “Coming through for some business in Sentinel, I believe.”

               “Thanks.” I said, still smiling despite the wave of despair sweeping through me.

               

                “Please throw the whole bundle in, for every single one of my comrades.” Farwil told the clerk. “Full meals, hot baths… everything.”

                “Hold on, Sir-Knight.” Lucien said, placing a hand firmly on his shoulder. “This would put a serious dent in the budget that I know we cannot afford. I must advise against this.” 

                “Be at ease, LaChance. I have no intention of using quest funds.” Farwil replied to Lucien over his shoulder, then turned back to the clerk. “Per usual, the bill will be sent to Castle Cheydinhal.”

                “Yes, sir.” The clerk replied, gathering the the slips and placing them in their respective slot.

                I was stunned to hear this. Farwil proved again that he was a better mer than he used to be with another act of selflessness. He was using his own personal funds to ensure we had all the comforts and joys available, for which we all all expressed our heartfelt gratitude.

                Farwil chuckled as he was bombarded with firm pats on the back and ruffles through his hair. “It’s nothing… really. Just please behave yourselves while you’re here, that’s all I ask.”

                “You’ll want to get settled into your rooms and washed up soon, if you want to come back down in time for kebabs fresh off the grill, giant date logs, and salted pork roast.” The clerk suggested.

                We all exchanged glances for a second and almost trampled over each other on our way up the stairs that curled up to the second floor, and down the hallways of the sleeping quarters.

 

               There was no disappointment to be found in the room I was staying in. It was small, but very cozy and inviting. A few paces from the door, there was a little fireplace along the left wall, a small sofa with an end table on either side, and a single bed along the right wall. Next to the window, at the opposite side, was a little round dining table with two chairs.

               Just as relief washed over me, and heaved out a long breath as a low whistle, one of the servants courteously gave the door behind me, which was already open, a few light knocks.

              “Shall we bring the tub and water in now, miss?” She asked.

              “Oh! Yes, please!” I answered.

              She and three others wheeled in a cart with a large wooden tub already filled up, four bone-white towels, and a bottle of bath oil. They left as quickly as they entered, but not before I tipped them well for their service.

              After dropping all the pieces of my armor onto the floor, and peeling off the sweat-drenched underclothes, I carefully stepped into the tub. The warm water, rich with safflower oil, alleviated the stiff soreness in my muscles and joints, and anxieties were washed away with the grit and blood. I felt new again, in mind and body, and it was all thanks to young Indarys. My concerns about his company were well founded, certainly, but I had judged him too harshly. I told myself to clear my mind of all the negative opinions of him that I had reserved for so long, and also apologize for calling him a ‘dumbass’ when we regrouped for supper.

 

~*~

                I wanted to enjoy the bath for longer than fifteen minutes, but the water was getting cold and the smell of smoked meats from downstairs beckoned me. After hopping out and hastily toweling myself dry, and throwing on a simple red skirt and blouse, I made my way back down to the main floor.

                Lucien was the first to be there waiting, sitting alone at the counter that ringed the kitchen. He was wearing a cream-colored long shirt and dark brown pants, and had let his dark wavy locks hang down and drape around his face. While resting his chin on the back of his left hand, he repetitiously twirled a dinner knife through the fingers of his right, staring intensely at the flames flickering through the gate of the grill.

                I sat next to him and grabbed one of the dozen or so kebabs, which were laid out along the counter like a bed of flowers. Not sure if he was up to mingling yet, I just went to work on the juicy cubes of meat and vegetables and admired his beauty in respectful silence.

 

                “Sorry to say that _Black Velvet_ is not on the list of beverages, but I’m sure there is something here you’ll like.” Lucien purred with a weak grin.

                I chuckled, relieved that he was approachable and in the mood to crack a joke.

                “Yeah… sorry if I had embarrassed you. I was just… when I’m in good spirits, I sometimes get carried away like that.”

                “No need to apologize. To say the very least, I was beyond flattered.” He said. “But I must say again, be careful with that tongue. There are at least three other sharp minds that could’ve read between the lines as well.”

                “Right.” I said, then glanced around the area. “It’s strange that we’re the only ones here. I’d expect this place to be packed by now. Where the hell is everyone?”

                “The rest of our group decided it was better to hit the bazaar before the shops closed, and _then_ come back for the kebabs.” He answered. “As for the other lot, my guess is that they’re all out for the pre-holiday festivities.”

                “Ah… but why aren’t you out with them?”

                “As tempting as it is to browse around for unusual baubles and the sort, I’d much rather be where it is empty and quiet.”

                “Oh… sorry…” I turned and readied to leave, “I’ll just go and--”

                “N-no.” He said, putting his left hand on the small of my back. “That’s not what I meant at all. Please… stay and finish your meal. I’m not opposed to the company of one good friend, I simply meant that I am not up for large crowds and a lot of commotion.”

                “Alright.” I replied with a grin, looking at the arm parent of the hand he placed on me, with a blush burning in my cheeks.

                Realizing it was there, he bashfully whipped it back and returned it to the chain of the metal diffuser in his teacup.

                I went on eating, but was partially distracted from it by the way his long fingers skillfully moved over and under the knife as he spun it back and forth. It was the first time I had a good look at his hands, since they were usually covered with gloves; roguishly beautiful, like the rest of him-- large with several scars, but well-groomed and enticingly nimble.

                For a few minutes, I had allowed my mind to wander back into the realm of lewd daydreams, where I imagined the kind of work I’d put them to, but quickly snapped myself out because it did nothing but torture me. I tore my attention away from his hand, though it hardly made much of a difference to direct it to his alluring eyes.

                “You have the look of someone who either has a lot on his mind… or nothing at all.” I remarked to him.

                 “A lot.” He replied. “Most of it being regret.”

                “For killing Amir?”

                 “No… for not getting more information from that bastard before I ended his life… and having to obey Farwil’s command like a damn warhound to end his suffering before he had paid the _full_ price.” He growled, flipping the knife into the palm of his hand and gripping it tightly. “And flying off the handle in front of the Knights… failing to be a proper example of self-control in front of the Family.”

                “During my time as a lieutenant in the Imperial army, I lost it in front of my subordinates many times. It happens. Don’t be too hard on yourself.” I shifted in the chair a bit before working up the nerve to ask a question I wasn’t expecting him to answer directly: “Exactly what did Amir do to earn so much hate from you?”

                 He turned his head and stared at me a while, clearly debating about whether or not he should say. He then scanned the area to make sure we were still the only ones around, and almost whispered the answer: “What I’m about to share with you is a story that I’ve not told anyone else in the Family. I’m sure it is unnecessary for me to ask you this, but I will anyway... will you please promise me that you will never share it with any of them?”

                 “I swear on my life.” I replied, making sure to look him directly in the eyes.

                 He looked around again before he began. “My father, Glenmoire LaChance, was a huntsman like myself-- one that had such a profound respect for nature and wildlife, that he refused to hunt during the spring and summer, believing it to be a time for game to replenish their numbers. He was a member of the Fighters Guild, so that he’d still have work to do within the time that passed between the end of winter and beginning of autumn. Most of the members of the Daggerfall guildhalls became close family friends, some of whom my father had frequently invited over to our house. I got to know them quite well myself, after I started working at the Wayrest location as an errand boy, shortly after my twelfth birthday.”

                 Lucien paused to take a few hefty gulps from his teacup, looked around again, and cleared his throat with a sharp cough. “One evening, as I was coming home from town, I saw smoke and fire on the hill to the west, upon which the house that belonged to my family for hundreds of years was built. I raced to the scene, then beheld the horror that confirmed my fear… it _was_ our house engulfed in flames… and when I got closer… I saw two bodies lying on the ground.”

                 He stopped again, clenching his eyes tight to fight back tears. “Father, mother, and the sibling she was still carrying in her womb... murdered… butchered like pigs.” He bit his lower lip and tried to steady his breath. “Father didn’t die from his injuries right away. He’d saved the last of his strength to crawl to my mother, and the child they were never to meet, and hold them in his arms... one last time. He had also written the name of their murderer in the soil:

                ‘Amir Ilhan Hashiid’.”

                I had already sensed where this story was going when he’d started it with his parents. How excruciating it must’ve been, to not only have his family murdered, but to also bear the painful rumors circulating throughout the Sanctuaries about him being the one who ended their lives. With Aaron’s death throwing him again into whirling agony only a few years later, it was not a wonder why he walked with eagerness down the path that Sithis laid out before him.

                With some reluctance, I slid my right hand over counter and gently smoothed it onto into his left hand. It seemed to me like the right and natural thing to do, even though I half expected him to flinch or pull his hand away out of fear for the watchful, unseen eyes. Rather, he put his right hand upon it, after letting the knife drop onto the counter, and gave it a firm grip.

               “During the investigation that followed, a few members at the Fighters Guild revealed to us that Amir was frequently involved in mercenary work. Guess word got to him that my family’s murderer was identified, because he was never seen again… until today…” He took a deep breath into his cavernous chest, then slowly breathed out the next sentence. “In my rage, I had denied myself the answer to a question that has haunted me since I was a lad of fifteen: What the hell did my family do to deserve such treachery? Who had marked them for death, and why? It would _seem_ that I may never know...  and yet…”

 

                “CHAMPION!” The voice of Dorandil blasted from behind us, at the bottom of the stairs.

                My hand snapped away from his and I spun around to face the bosmer. Lucien shifted in his annoyance and resumed his earlier position at the counter.

                Dorandil came flying over to the Banquet Hall and leaped onto the stool next to me.

                “You can just call me ‘Malkhai’, you know.” I told him, mildly irritated by the ill timing of his entrance, but doing my best to be kind to the little fellow. “I take it you’re in better spirits now?”

                “Oh yes! That ordeal back in the canyon shook me, I won’t lie, but I’m feeling much better now.”

                “You’ll feel even better once you get some good food in ya.” The kebabs were out of the wood elf’s reach, so I grabbed one for him. “Here ya go, kid. Careful, it’s probably still a little hot.”

                “Thank you, Malkhai!” Dorandil beamed.

               

                “Someone pinch me!!” Boomed the voice of another coming in to join us. “I think I’m going to cry!”

                We both turned around to see Gogron, ahead of the rest of the group that was pouring in from the front door, with his mouth hanging wide open and staring at all the mouth-watering options with eyes about to pop out of their sockets. He then giggled as he told Telaendril: “Oooh! You naughty little woman!”

                “You said you wanted to be pinched!” Telaendril said, giggling with him. “And those cheeks are so damn pinchable!”

                “Hey, Malkhai,” I heard Farwil say in a low voice behind me. I turned around in the stool to face him, “How is everything?”

                “Really good, thanks… but I don’t think I’m going to be at complete ease until I apologize to you… for calling you a ‘dumbass’ earlier. I was just so worked up and freaked out--”

                “Ah!” Farwil laughed. “No-no-no. Don’t you worry, that was already forgiven and forgotten. I should be apologizing to you… and the rest of the group.”

                Everyone turned to Farwil.

                “I recall no offense you need to be sorry for.” Bremman said to him.

                “I failed to live up to your expectations, I’m sure. I’ve spent two years bettering myself, delving into various schools within both the Fighters Guild and Mages Guild, yet I’m still not the warrior that I should and want so much to be.”

                “Oh, knock that off, Farwil.” I told him. “You handled yourself just fine, and the only time you almost died was when you risked your life for a friend!”

                “You’d have been able to save a friend _and_ fight a foe at the same time.”

                “Yeah, but I’ve about fifteen more years of experience under my belt! I didn’t wake up one morning and suddenly have all the knowledge and skills of a seasoned warrior. I worked hard, all day every day, to get to this point.”

                “True.” He agreed.

                “Hey, I bet in a sword fight you’d kick my ass real good, since I’ve gotten a little rusty with the blade.”

 

                This got Lucien’s attention. He sat up straight, turned around in his stool, and gave me a hard look of disbelief. “Rusty? When was the last time you had even picked up a sword?” He asked.

                “Just before that assface Phillida dragged me into prison, and even then I wore it only because we were required to.” I brought up my fists. “These hands have been my primary weapons for probably about ten years.”

                Lucien narrowed eyes, in which I could see his doubt in my ability to wield Dragonfury. I had a defense, but I was not going to explain to him in front of Farwil that I had bent the truth slightly to make him feel better. I snapped away from him and back to Farwil.

                “So when were you going to tell me you were a battlemage?” I asked him. “You really surprised me today by frying that guy with the freakin’ fireball. You got it in you, kid… I couldn’t be more proud to have you with us.”

                Farwil’s whole face lit up with restored pride.

                “You come from a long line of powerful mages,” I added, “so just keep doing what you do and you’ll realize the potential you have in time.”

                I realized too late that I had again said too much, and there was no way I could unsay those words. I watched his expression change into confusion, with a touch of sadness.

                “Thank you, Malkhai. I’m glad you think so. But I know what you say about my family is only flattery. There are some good people in the maternal line, but… my father’s side....”

                I blinked, then noticed he had a bottle of beer in his hand and his unexpected confession made sense.

                “I… should probably not say much more about that… I… I love my father dearly and have no desire to speak ill of him… even though…”

                He stopped and stepped away to take a seat on one of the sofas in a shadier part of the lounging area, rubbing his forehead to work out the toxic thoughts in his mind. Bremman had a look that told us that he knew everything that Farwil was close to leaking out. He kept it to himself as well.

 

                “Well, well.” Lucien said to me. “Here I thought you were set to hate young Indarys unconditionally, and yet you seem to be developing a fondness for him.”

                “I’ve never hated him… just his flirting. Also, I’ve put the whole Oblivion matter out of my mind, seeing with my own eyes that most of what he was back then is long gone.” I grinned. “You know I already have ‘fondness’ for someone else, and nothing’s going to change that.”

                Lucien grinned behind the tea cup he was sipping from. “I’m sure he’d be relieved to know you are determined to be so faithful.” He set the cup down and turned to look at me directly. “But something else is troubling him.”

                “I think I know.” I groaned.

 

                With a long sigh, Lucien stood up and announced to the rest of the group: “May I have your attention please!”

                They all went quiet and looked up at LaChance.

                “I’m sorry to say that I must settle down for rest now, as I’ll need to rise very early tomorrow morning. Don’t be far behind- we’ll be meeting down here again for breakfast at 8:30 am.” Lucien turned to Farwil. “Sir-Knight, I must suggest that you have one of the private rooms reserved, as we’ll have important quest-related matters that we must discuss before heading out again.”

                “That’s a good idea. It shall be done.” Farwil answered.

                “Thank you, Sir-Knight.” Lucien bowed reverently. “I bid you all good evening. Remember… don’t get up at 8:30 am, _be here at 8:30 am._ ”

                He turned back to me and added: “But you, Ms. Ale’Zandre… you will meet me in the training room on the top floor, in attire suitable for a sparring session, at _6:00 am_. Be sure to rest up well, because I imagine there’s going to be a lot of work to do.”

                “Yes, sir.” I answered.

                With that, Lucien left to retire in his sleeping quarters.

 

                “Why does he want you to do that?” Ocheeva asked me.

                “I don’t know for sure, but I’m betting he’s going to test my ability to wield Dragonfury.” I answered.

                “Ah! That’s just like him- when doubt itches, he scratches it well.” Ocheeva patted me on the knee. “Be sure to do as he says. Don’t let us keep you up all night.”

 

                We carried on socializing for a while longer. I stayed downstairs just long enough to spend a good amount of time stuffing my gob with rich food, trying not to choke on it while laughing at people’s jokes, and relishing in every minute I could afford with the Family and new friends. At roughly two hours before midnight, the silken fabric of the sheets and the air thick with incense guided me into the world of dreams.

End of Part V


	6. Chapter 6

~*~

 **In the fresh morning, when the stars had yet to fade** and the sky was a dark cornflower blue, with a splash of soft yellow on the eastern horizon, I was violently ripped from sleep by a loud knock at my door. 

 _The staff solicit services at this hour??_ I wondered.

            “No, thank you!” I hollered out with a gravelly voice, then tried to settle back to sleep.

            But they knocked again.

            “ _No, thank you!!_ ” I repeated, much louder than before.

            Several times again, they knocked.

            I picked up one of my boots and almost threw it with a curse at the door, but I was stopped by the memory of scheduling a wake-up knock for 5:30 am. 

 _Oh… right_. I thought, and then looked at the hourglass on the nightstand. _Hmm… but the bugger is fifteen minutes early!_

            With a long stretch and mutter of a few foul things under breath, I pulled on a cotton robe and zombie-walked to the door. The moment I opened it, I was blasted with a loud and high-pitched squeal: " _Good morning, Grand Champion!!"_  

            It jolted me to a full wake. I stumbled back, almost tumbling over one of the chairs by the fireplace. 

            " _Dorandil!! What the hell—_??" I snarled.

            Ignoring my anger and not waiting for an invite, he rushed in while pushing a large cart with several cotton sacks on the bottom rack, and a plate of food and a mug of coffee on the top rack. 

            “As promised,” He said, standing up straight and proud as he presented the items on the cart, “I cleaned and polished your armor to a brilliant shine! I washed your clothes and hung them to dry by the fire before ironing every wrinkle out of them! There’s not a single stain or spec of grit to be found anywhere!” He pulled the items out of the sacks and hurriedly placed them in the wardrobe next to the entrance. “And if you’re to spar with Mr. LaChance, you’re going to need a good hearty breakfast! You be sure to eat those eggs— they’re rich in protein!”

           “Thanks, kid.” I said, doing well enough to express my gratefulness, though still thoroughly annoyed. I was not ready to absorb that much energy and noise from anything so early in the morning, at least before I had a sufficient amount of caffeine in my system.

           When I had a close inspection of the clothes and armor, my eyes popped open so wide that it felt like they were going to drop out of the sockets. “By the Nine!” I exclaimed. “All my years in the service, I can honestly say this is a look of newness I’ve never achieved! Excellent work Dorandil!”

           “D’aaw! Thank you!” He replied.

           “How on Nirn did you accomplish this?” 

           “I’d share the secret with you, but I’m sure you have not time for that now. You should eat your breakfast before it gets cold and head up soon.”

           “Right.” I picked up the plate and walked over to the breakfast nook, eagerly stuffing my face with the eggs. “Come on over here and help yourself to something.”

           “That is kind of you, but no thanks- all I really want is to go up with you so that I could watch the spar! I didn’t get to see you in action when those cutthroats tried to kill us, since I was inside the hold the entire time! Plus, if Lucien’s all that Farwil described, this should be a match of a lifetime!”

           "I don't remember him saying anything about a match."

           "For what other reason would he have you meet him in the training room with sparring attire on?"

           "To prove to him that I can still wield a greatsword perfectly fine."

           "You will!!"

           "Shhh!! Keep it down, Dorandil. There are other people around here still trying to sleep."

           "Sorry-sorry-sorry, Champion!" He bowed his head repeatedly. "So can I go up with you and watch? Ple-e-e-ase!"

            Everything inside told me that it would be a bad idea. The most likely outcome would be the little squeaker annoying LaChance to the point of turning him into a bosmer kebob.

            “I’m sorry to say that I think it would be better if you catch up on the sleep you lost doing all that amazing work.” I said to him. 

             Dorandil made a sad-puppy face, but I didn’t let it change my mind.

            “Next time... I promise.” I added, giving him a few pats on the head. I didn’t believe there was going to be a next time, but I had to say something to cheer him up. “Now, I’ll have to kindly ask you to leave so I can get changed, alright?”

            “Alrighty!” He exclaimed, wasting no time heading out of the room with a big dopey grin on his face. “Good luck, and Azura bless you!”

            “Thanks again.” I whispered, shutting and locking the door before gearing up right away.

~*~

            There wasn’t a lot of activity in the public spaces at this hour. Only the only sounds produced by kitchen bustle on the first floor echoed through the halls and stairwells. But they faded as I neared the top floor, and from that point I heard only the desert wind howling against the tower, and padded taps of my doeskin shoes against stone steps. The air had changed as well— the presence of curry and sweet meats remained, but they were dominated by sandalwood and an undertone of greenery. 

            I thought I had made a mistake when I reached the top floor. It looked more like a greenhouse or a space dedicated entirely to lounging, as there were so many small trees and flowers everywhere, with several water features and figures made of burnished clay. The whole room was given a warm amber tint by the light pouring down from the glass dome above. It was far too beautiful and inviting for it to be a place for combat training. I almost turned back to look for him elsewhere. 

 _He did say ‘top floor’_ , I reminded myself, _Keep going._

           There was an inner circle, divided by a partition wall made of dark-stained wood and frosted glass. Everything behind it was a blur— I could only make out enough to know that there was a human figure at the very center of the room. 

           Once at the doorway, I had a clear view of everything. The inner room was made up mostly of a dark red mat— it was encircled by a large collection of wooden replicas of just about every weapon type known to Nirn, and a water bar at the entrance side.

            I beheld a sight that halted my steps abruptly— the figure in the inner room was Lucien, nearing the end of his warm-up exercises on the mat, in nothing more than black cotton pants held together by a red sash, and wraps around his wrists and ankles. I stayed on the path of dark shadows as I inched in quietly, aware of nothing else but his lean-cut form— bending, twisting, and glistening in the warmly-hued sunlight. It is presumed by many outside the Black Hand that Speakers aren’t as physically active as their subordinates— that their world revolves around a sphere of strategy, politics, and paperwork. Maybe it’s true for some, but certainly not for Lucien. His hardened body, sporting several new scars over old ones, spoke of ceaseless action. I didn’t dare to deny my eyes a single second of pleasure by even blinking. I took in slow and shallow breaths, fearing that he would hear the faintest whistling of air through my nostrils and end prematurely his display of intoxicating masculine beauty and athleticism.

 _Doesn’t look like he’s seen me_ , I thought. I stayed in the shadows until the precise time that I was expected to be there. 

           But, as though my thoughts had betrayed my presence, Lucien turned his head and said over his shoulder, in his usual velvety tone: “Good morning, Ms. Ale’Zandre.” 

           “ _I’ll say it is_.” I replied, then set the mug of coffee I had carried up with me on the counter of the water bar. “Guess I won’t be needing this to wake me up after all.”

            Lucien lowered his eyes down to his chest and coughed out a chuckle with a wide, bashful grin. “I like it up here. I prefer solitude and the sanctuary of lush vegetation for exercise and practice. But it’s still too warm for my comfort.” He said, then went straight away to his push-ups.

            I didn’t like the heat much either, but I liked how it worked in my favor that morning. My eyes not only had the blessed feast of his bare flesh, they were further treated to the sight of the sweat-dampened cloth clinging to his bubbly backside, so tight that there wasn’t much left for me to imagine.

            “Wow.” I muttered.

            “What’d you say?” He asked with huff.

            “I said..wh...why… um… so why wear a black cloak over black armor in the scorching heat?”

            “Because they are enchanted with a body-cooling spell.”

            “Why not wear them in here?”

            “Because Levik took them down to the guildhall armory to have them professionally cleaned. _There was a lot of blood_.”

            “Yeah… I noticed.” 

            Lucien stood up and stretched his arms out behind his head. “Do you know why you've been summoned here?" He asked.

            I swallowed the huge lump that was forming in my throat. Still staring at everything below the level of his eyes, I thought of several saucy answers to give him, but I instead tried to recover some professionalism. “Because of what I said to Farwil. You’re afraid that I’ve gotten rusty with the greatsword and will perform poorly on the battlefield... right?

            “Correct.”

            “I exaggerated my lack of experience a bit to inspire him. I may not use a greatsword anymore, but for me it is something that can never be unlearned.”

            Lucien walked over to the weapon rack and returned with a common greatsword. 

            “Only your actions, not your words, will convince me of that.” He said, carefully bringing the sword to me with the blade laid flat on the open palm of his right hand and the grip held securely in the left. “According to _The Legends of Alik'r_ , the book I found in the College of Winterhold, Dragonfury is seven feet long and a little over ten pounds--it appears to be made of gold, though it was crafted with ethereal materials that have yet to be identified by mortals, and has a unique draconic design. There is nothing here at the guildhall to accurately represent it, so this will have to do.” 

            Placing one hand just below the crossguard and the other on the pummel, I gripped the sword tight and closed my eyes to summon all memories of its use. Though I had great respect for it, I had always found it awkward to wield, as it was over a foot longer than I was tall. I learned how to use it well during basic training—after that, it was seldom anything but an ornament for military parades and routine inspections.

            Lucien stepped off the mat to watch from a safe distance, still standing with his arms crossed and keeping his ever watchful eyes on me. I took a few deep breaths, then began with slow and careful movements to further regain familiarity, twirling the blade overhead.

           Once I had built up enough confidence, I lunged forward, swinging the blade to gain momentum, and delivered a vertical strike against an imaginary target— from the left shoulder to the right hip, again from the right shoulder to the left hip, and then from cranium to the coccyx. I used every other attack with every part of the sword’s body, then let it pass overhead one more time in the opposite direction, bringing the motion to a smooth stop on my shoulder. 

           I was sure there was nothing about my performance that was slow or clumsy. I turned around, anticipating the look of astonishment on Lucien’s face. He was smiling, but he didn’t seem thoroughly impressed. 

           “You did better than I thought you would.” He said.

            “Wha— _better than you thought??_ ” I bellowed, rapidly deflating. “That was _perfect!”_           

            Lucien let out a long, groaning sigh and walked back over to me. “You remember all the attacks very well. You have the strength to hold and swing the sword, and I’d say that alone is remarkable for someone who’s… hmm...”

            “ _Short_! It’s okay to say ‘short’.” I insisted. “So, what’s the problem?”

            “You lack a certain finesse. Your movements are stiff and slow.”

            “ _What_??” I blasted with a scowl. But I composed myself quickly and held the blade up to him with both hands. “Alright… how about you get on the mat and demonstrate what is expected of me!”

             Lucien took a few more steps closer to take the sword into his hands, then I took my turn watching from the sidelines, sitting on one of the wooden bar stools that edged the mat.

            “What I expect, my dear, is for you to be better than _this_.” He said, as he began to perform all the same moves, adding several of his own stunts between them all. I had reached full understanding and agreement with his criticism, noticing more fluidity and quickness in his movements, and his ability to use one hand with virtually little effort. Naturally, my mind began to receive this display as a private exotic dance, and I had a growing urge to toss some Septims onto the mat. “Remember that you don't just _use_ a sword in combat, and it’s not to be an _extension_ of yourself, as most so-called ‘instructors’ would tell you. You and the blade must become a _single entity_. To achieve this, you must recover the balance, speed, and agility that was lost— you must reach the point that every attack and parry is purely instinctual, so that your mind can be occupied also by the awareness of your surroundings.”

            “Right.” Was all I could say, stunned beyond a single-syllable response. 

            Lucien returned the greatsword to my hands, then went back to the rack for an identical wooden greatsword and a large sack that was propped up against it on the floor. “It may seem abrupt, but I think that a daily sparring session would be the most efficient way to reach that goal within the short amount of time we have.” He said.

            “Agreed.” I replied.

            “Here.” Lucien opened the sack and pulled out two sets of protective gear, made of black leather, and handed one to me. “Since we’ll be hitting each other with big wooden sticks, it’s better that we have something to take the brunt of the blows.”

            “Ah! Good!” I said, going straight to work on donning the pads, “I won’t have to worry about that pretty face of yours getting scratched up… or becoming a major distraction.”

            Lucien bit his lip with a wide grin again and growled low: “ _Oh quit, you_.”

 

           “ _Blast it all_ ,” I grumbled, fussing with the ties of the guard on my right arm, “the dreaded lace-ups instead of the more convenient D-ring fastenings. I’ve never quite got the hang of tying these with one--!”  

           “Permit me?” Lucien asked, closing the gap between us with offering hands held up.

           “Of course.” I answered with a nod. I stood as still as a statue while he assisted me, basking in the aura of his heat and scent. I watched intently the long and careful fingers going to work on the strings. After a few moments, my eyes began to travel to other places of his body that were only inches away, long enough for a very thorough study of every detail.

           Next were the laces of the cuirass, tied in the back. I closed my eyes to focus my attention on the feel of his hands working from top to bottom. He stopped occasionally to place an open palm down while pulling the strings tight with the other hand, loosening an involuntary gasp out of me every time. What almost dropped me to my knees was his hands gently smoothing over to the front side and applying gentle pressure, checking to make sure it was on securely. I’ve been outfitted several times before, so I could tell you that there was nothing inappropriate about the way he put his hands on me. There were multiple opportunities to sneak a more intimate feel, but he didn’t take them.            

            “What’s wrong? Is it on too tight?” He asked, when I whimpered and shuttered in his arms.

            “Nothing’s wrong… everything is right… _very right_.” I answered.

            “Ah… I see…” Was all he had to say about that.                 

            The last piece to go on was the helmet. It narrowed my field of vision, but it was a significantly lesser problem than having a severed jugular or crushed cervical spine as a result of being unprotected—even wooden swords that large and heavy can kill a person.

            “All set.” Lucien said.

            “Thank you.” I replied, turning around to face him. “I should return the favor.”

            Lucien eyed me with some uncertainty as he gave my offer some consideration. Though a tad reluctant, he brought up his left arm and gave me a nod of permission.

            With a little uneasiness, I reached out with both hands and began to lace up his armguard. I gave him the same respect that he had given me, but just being able to touch him, even in the most innocent way, intensified an already unseasonable warmth within the both of us. My whole body began to shiver with excitement, despite how I tried to steady myself and focus all my attention on the task.

            “You’re trembling.” He noted.

            “So are you.” I replied.

            I finished with a tight double-knot and moved on to the laces of his cuirass. For every second into working down his spine, the wild pulsation that rippled through every inch of my being became progressively unbearable, almost driving me to utter madness. But still, I repressed all selfish urges.

            “I do agree with you… lace-ups are quite tedious.” Lucien said.

            “Actually, I don’t mind them so much right now.” I replied. “I’m going to have to ask you to get on your knees, though.”

            “Why??” Lucien gave me a funny look, with eyes widened and brows askew.

            “So I can put the helmet on, of course. I can’t reach that far up to put it on your head.” I laughed, then had a little fun with him by asking, unnecessarily: “Why else?”

            “Nevermind.” He huffed as he knelt. 

            His head was at the level of my chest. I imagined how I would take advantage of this, but resisted temptation again and simply slipped the helmet onto his head, then walked over to the other side to work on the laces around his neck— but not before gathering his long black locks of hair into my hands, which felt like a million strands of fine silk, to tuck them into the back of the helmet. I closed my eyes for a moment to take in all the pleasure of running my fingers through it before moving on to the laces.

            “I think that should do it.” I said, placing my hands on either side of the helmet and giving it a few shakes. “Feel alright to you?”

            “It’s fine… thank you, Ms. Ale’Zandre.”

            “My pleasure… _really_.”

            But the moment of that pleasure was coming to a swift end, giving way to the serious and dangerous portion of our time together. With all the black gear on, appearing again to be the incarnation of night’s darkest shadows, his humanity had vanished. He became the ominous Son of Sithis again. Though it was just a spar, and I had absolutely no reason to fear for my life, the thought of dueling this great legend of Tamriel suddenly made every breath tight and painful, as though my chest was filled with large slabs of stone hugged by thorns and thistles. The mood in the room had changed drastically.

            _“Do not_ hold back for _anything_ , Ms. Ale’Zandre.” Lucien said, with a rolling darkness his voice. He took several steps back and brought his sword up. “ _Because I will not_.”

            “Yes, s—” 

            Immediately, without any warning, he made the first move— the blade began its circle overhead, but it was interrupted by my counterattack. Again, he swung from the opposite angle, but again it was blocked. I swiped away his forward lunge and swung to strike his neck while his back was turned to me. Anticipating this move, he dodged it with a roll, sprung up as he spun around, and leapt towards me from the mat. When our swords crossed again, after I had blocked his attack, he tried to use the guard to yank my blade out of my hands—but the strength in my grip did not fail me, so we stayed locked and struggled to overpower each other for what felt like an eternity. I couldn’t see through the mask well enough to search his facial expression for approval, but hearing his laboring grunts sent a surge of satisfaction throughout my entire being.

            _Don’t get overconfident!_ I told myself.

            Every five minutes into the spar, our movements increased in speed and intensity. I lasted longer than I thought I would against LaChance, but it became increasingly difficult to block and dodge Lucien’s attacks after another five or ten minutes had passed. Inevitably, I lost the match, due to an attack that took a second too long for me to execute-- he knocked the sword out of my hands and struck the right side of my neck with his sword. I was well protected, but it still hurt like hell. 

            “Dead.” He said, then backed over to the middle of the mat.

            Again, without warning or giving even two seconds of time for me to recover my weapon from the ground, he lunged forward and swung the blade. I dodged his attack, picked up my sword, spun around, and swung just in time to block the second attack.

           “Druin certainly will not wait for you to be ready.” Lucien growled while we were locked. “So don’t expect me to!”

           “Good.” I growled back, shoving him back and moving out of his striking range with only a fraction of a second to spare. 

           What I lacked in height I made up for in strength, and every bit of it was vital to fending off over a hundred pounds of force. It was also key for me to use the bare minimum amount of stamina for every move I made, as my speed depended greatly on it.

           Taking him a little more seriously than I did during the first round, I lasted a few minutes longer against him. But again, the stiffness in my movements that he had pointed out before caused me to fail— with full force he struck my chest, knocking me hard onto the ground.

           “Dead!” He barked.

           “Yeah-yeah-yeah!” I shot back, not waiting this time for a cue before raising the sword and engaging in the duel again.  

            For ten rounds straight, each one lasting a little longer than the previous, the sounds of the weapons furiously crashing together rang throughout the room. The joy of it diminished, since I had only managed to defeat him once, and it was only because of a split-second opportunity to blindside him. He never once laughed or belittled me in any way—I was the one that had responded emotionally to every defeat, punching the mat and cursing up a storm. I went in thinking I would prove him wrong, but there I was having my ego cut down to size… a very small, microscopic size.

             At 7:30 on the dot, we finally broke for replenishment. Humiliated and feeling bruised all over, I stiffly made my way over to the water bar, practically tearing the gear off. 

            “If it would comfort you to know,” Lucien said, removing each piece in a more calm and graceful way, “you’re the most challenging sparring partner I’ve had in years.”

             “Yeah right.” I snorted.

            “It’s true. I wouldn’t lie about something like that—in fact, I avoid lying to anyone if I can. Some virtues of my previous life I still hold true, and always will.”

             “Virtues!” I chuckled, filling a mug with water from the keg on the counter. “Ironic.”

            “It may seem so, but it is essential for being successful _and_ well-respected.” He walked over to the keg and filled his waterskin. “Anyway, if we continue to do this at least three times every day, I imagine you will reach a level beyond my expectation by the time we arrive in Vvardenfell.”

            His words of encouragement softened my anger. We exchanged warm smiles before he began to chug his water. I watched a couple droplets escape from the corner of his mouth, run down through the deep crevices of his chest and abdominal muscles, and venture farther down into the depths below his sash. I was consumed again by an intense heat that could not be cooled by even the waters of Windhelm, and growing insanely jealous of those water droplets.

            _Damn you both. You don’t need the Listener’s approval._ I groaned inside. 

            While my eyes were down at that level, my attention snapped to a particularly nasty scar along his lower right hip, left by a deep laceration. Before, it was concealed by the sash, which had been scrunched down during the match.

            I pointed at it and exclaimed: “Ysmir’s Beard, how the hell did you get that??”

            “What?” He asked, then followed my eyes to the scar. “Oh...that… well, it’s an interesting story, really. I was heading south from Winterhold, just after completing a contract. In a twist of irony, I found myself the target for assassination. It came as no surprise to me, as I’ve been targeted multiple times before— sometimes those affected by a loved one being slain by the Dark Brotherhood manage to learn of the identity of the killer. If they’re rich _and_ stupid, they hire assassins of other guilds to exact revenge. What did surprise me was something he had said, after the realization that he was not going to win the battle came upon him: ‘If I cannot kill you, I’ll at least ensure you are the last Son of LaChance!’ He quickly drew another blade from a pocket of his boot—I was quick enough to move just before he had… severed from me any chance to sire a child again, but not quick enough to dodge the strike entirely.”

            “Hmmm… sounds like a hatred that runs much deeper than anything tied to a contract kill, Lucien.... someone had it out for your _entire family_.”

            “I thought so too. I attempted to get answers from him, using the methods that got Amir to talk. But the assassin was more prepared for failure… he had already swallowed a fast-acting poison before I cut off his limbs. He said, right before he died: ‘More will come.’

            “And?”

            “More came. They all shared his fate… and, also, took with them the answers I sought into whatever afterlife awaited them. It’s a good chance that there is a connection with Amir… but I may never know if that’s true. My uncontrolled rage denied me what was probably the only opportunity to know…”

            “I’m willing to bet it was not. When all of this Druin crap is over, you should take some time off for a serious investigation into all of this, Lucien! Cause you know they’re just going to send out more goons, and sooner or later it might be a whole army that even you cannot defeat alone!”

            “I agree, but you’re forgetting that I have obligations. My duties keep me from pursuing personal missions. But I trust that someday, when there are enough members in the Family to lighten the load of contracts again, the Listener will grant me some time to look into it.”

            “And I will go with you!” 

            Lucien smiled and nodded. “ _I sincerely hope you can_.”

            “Mr. LaChance!” Called a voice from the doorway. We both snapped out of the long and affectionate staring session and jumped to our feet. The voice belonged to Levik—in quick but graceful steps, he made his way over to us and said with a full bow to the Speaker: “Forgive the interruption, M’Lord, but it is now quarter till eight. I understand that the gathering is at eight-thirty, but you should spare some considerable time to bathe and suit up— the armory has finished cleaning your cloak and armor.”

            “Thank you, Levik.” Lucien said, dismissing him with a returning bow and hands flat together. 

            Just as quickly as he came, Levik floated across the room and disappeared behind the doorway.

            “Well... “ I said with a long sigh. “I suppose…”

            “Yes… we should.” He replied, then bowed to me. “ _After you_.” 

            Just to let you know how big of a deal this is, members of the Black Hand always go before their subordinates. Within the Dark Brotherhood, this was a gesture of the highest respect that very few are given. I didn’t know this at the time, yet I sensed its significance and did not take the gesture lightly.

            “Um… wow… okay… thank you, Mr. LaChance.” I said, returning the bow. 

            He followed me as we left the training room and headed down to the second level, reflecting without a single spoken word all that had transpired, making mental preparations for another long road of unknown perils, and the routine sparring sessions between them all. 

**End of Part VI**

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

~*~

                **Returning to my room to wash up and pack** , I took in all the luxuries again for as long as I could-- breathing in the satin swirls of smoke from the incense burning on the fireplace mantle, and giving the hot water and bath salts time to work out the all-over bruised feeling. Everything I had to endure to be ready for my battle with Druin was necessary, so despite the pain he had inflicted, I couldn’t have been more grateful for LaChance being true to his word about not holding back for anything.

                I closed my eyes and meditated on all that had happened, at first with the simple and innocent intention of focusing on every moment of defeat to understand what I had done wrong, and think of how I could avoid that mistake during the next training session. But every time I went back to the very beginning, slowing down the motion of the images, reality began to intertwine with a fantasy. Before long, the spar in its entirety had evolved into a purely sensual entanglement that was, to say the very least, a blissful distraction from the pain.

               But like all good things, the indulgence of this almost unbearably sweet escape had to come to a swift end. But I didn’t even wrestle with the temptation to take a little bit of it with me, pouring the remnants of the bath oils into empty potion vials and ‘accidentally’ packing the towels in with the rest of my clothes.

                As I neared the end of the stairs, back on the first floor, I noticed Levik standing by the front desk. He was there to greet and direct each one of us to the room that we all had to meet in.  “Hello again Ms. Ale’Zandre.” He said with a bow. “You’ll want to head over to the center lounge, turn down the hallway to the left, and take another left through the second door.”

                “Thank you, Mr. Mathardys,” I replied with a return bow, then followed his directions to the gathering point. I entered the private room, which was just the right size for all of us to squeeze in around a large circular table, just in time to hear Farwil scold Gogron for his appalling table manners.

                 “Did you even bother to chew any of that??” The young mer blasted.

                “Thsome o’ eght.” Gogron nonchalantly replied with a shrug, after cramming more food in.

                “Gaaagh! That’s disgusting— no one needs to see or hear wads of spit and pieces of cow swishing around in your mouth! I must demand that while you dine with me, you are to eat like a gentleman!”

                "Th'sure... er... um..." Gogron swallowed the rest of his food, used his tongue to work out some pieces around his tusks, and smiled. "I mean... yes, Sir-Knight."

 

                Dorandil squealed and ran over to me at full speed, almost knocking me to the ground when he leapt forward and gave me a tight hug, which reminded me that I was still covered with bruises.

                “Yes… agh… good morning... again…” I grunted as I pulled him off. 

 

                “Malkhai!” Ocheeva called out. She too rushed over to me and gave my shoulders a firm squeeze, then walked me over to an empty seat at the table. “We’ve been anxious all morning! Come on, sit down! We saved you a spot right over here!”

                 Everyone crowded around the table, leaning forward with their chins resting on their hands, as if waiting for me to spill the juicy details of a romantic outing.

                “So, how’d it go??” Telaendril asked.

                “Well… long story short... my body’s still intact, but my pride was cut to size.”

                “So, you really did spar with Lucien! Goodness, what happened? Start from the beginning and leave nothing out!” Antoinetta insisted.

                “There’s really not much of a story, Ant. I went upstairs to meet with him, he had me demonstrate my skills, then we put on sparring gear and went a few rounds—he kicked my ass almost every single time. Guess I’m rustier than I thought I was.”

                Farwil caught me rubbing one of the sore spots on the back of my neck and came over. “By the Nine, did he hurt you??” He brought his hands up to inspect the bruise.

                I leaned away and answered with a scowl “Thank you for your concern, Sir-Knight, but I’m fine! I had suffered worse during a pillow fight.”  That wasn’t true, but I wanted him to go away.

                “Can I at least get you a healing potion?”

                “Thanks again, but no. That would be wasteful. It’ll heal up on its own just fine. Please, Farwil, just leave it be.”

 

                “Was it really just the two of you up there?” Teinaava asked with a presumptuous tone and grin.

                “Yes.” I answered. Some of them closed into a tight circle, chuckling and whispering to each other. “Oh! No-no-no! It was a strictly professional affair!”

                “Huhhhuuhhh… affair!” Travierre chuckled. Everyone but the cat, who seemed to never smile about anything but my misery, responded all at once with a roar of suggestive jokes about the two of us, and laughter loud enough to wake the dead.

                “That’s enough!!” Farwil roared, as he slammed his metal-plated firsts on the table. All manner of sound and movement stopped instantly. A few knights coiled in fear. “Can’t you see that you’re all making the Champion uncomfortable! None of you utter another filthy jest about the lady! Is that clear??”

                I approved of his intervention, even if he was being a tad over-dramatic about it. Though I was relieved to know that most of the Family had a positive attitude towards the possibility of us having a relationship, it was an awkward time to turn that much attention to it.

 

                “What on Nirn is the yelling about now?” Lucien asked as he stepped into the room, with Levik close behind him.

                “I’ll tell you what!” Farwil shot, spinning around and marching straight up to the Speaker, who appeared unfazed by the anger redirected to him. “You and Malkhai sparring alone—there must always be spotters present in case something goes wrong! I didn't expect an intelligent person like you to be such a fool!"

                All the Family members gasped. Had Farwil been a subordinate member of the Dark Brotherhood, Lucien wouldn’t have allowed more than a couple of those choice words before grabbing him by the throat and sending him flying through the window. But, while I’m sure he was imagining the many slow and painful ways of ending his life, we all knew he wouldn’t give into his impulses in this case. He was unpredictable in many ways, but we could always expect him to be a dutiful Speaker. Out of honor and respect for the Listener, LaChance not only allowed Farwil’s insult to bounce off him, he kept himself remarkably calm. I didn’t even see a glint of fury in his soft brown eyes.

                “You’re right, Sir-Knight,” Lucien admitted, then bowed reverently. “Safety is a great concern, and I was negligent in that regard. I promise that I will not make the same mistake next time.”

                “Oh! There's to be a 'next time'??”

                “Yes, Sir-Knight. Ms. Ale’Zandre requires a daily sparring session—ideally, twice a day—so that she is prepared to wield Dragonfury against Druin.”

 

                Farwil considered it for a moment as he continued to stare scornfully up at him. “Very well… but I’ll be present for every session!”

                “As you wish, Sir-Knight. You know I have no objections.”

                “I wish I did know that, LaChance... but you’ve already disobeyed my command once. Disobey this one, and I will have my father find another tactician when we get back to Cheydinhal!”

                “Farwil!” I blasted as I shot up from my chair.

                Indarys whirled around and his face softened a bit. “Y-yes, M’Lady?” He asked.

                I was swelled with outrage, ready to give him all the earful he had given LaChance and then some, but the Speaker gave me a stern look as he shook his head.

                “With… _all due respect_ , Sir-Knight...” I started through clenched teeth, which turned into a forced smile before I continued. “... I think it would be best if we set this matter aside for later… perhaps when we get to the next waypoint... because we really need to get back on the road soon! Time is ticking against the chance to kill Druin and save the little girl’s life, remember!”

                “Right.” He huffed, then straightened up and took a few parchments from Levik’s tablet.

 

                Everyone went back to eating breakfast throughout the morning briefing, still a bit jarred by the little drama. What Farwil and Lucien went on talking about for the remainder of the hour was nothing story-worthy, as it was just a review of everything that had happened since our departure from Cyrodiil, plus an inventory update. Lucien never once gave Farwil a look of displeasure at any time—contrary to Farwil, whom often looked at him in a way a gardener would look at a snail in his strawberry garden. Maybe there really was some concern for safety that made him angry, but it was obvious that jealousy was gradually beginning to consume him.

                _If it’s going to be like this every day, and will only get worse,_ I prayed, even though I didn’t expect it to be heard, I _fear that I will have to tell him before you want him to know. I hope you’ll forgive me for breaking my promise._

 

~*~

                Within the next hour, we were all aboard the cart again and bound for Taneth, the next point of rest that we had to reach before night fell upon us again. Surprisingly, we didn’t have any hostile encounters between Rihad and Chaseguard. Not even sensing the presence of danger, most of us relaxed and preoccupied ourselves with various forms of simple and moderately quiet entertainment.

                Lucien was the only one determined to remain watchful throughout the entire time. Because, sure enough, just as we had let our guard down for a little while, we had the first run-in of the day. It was nothing too significant, just a band of trolls wandering about the area of the Chase River Bridge. One alerted our presence to the rest of the group with a loud whoop and holler. Too stupid to see that they didn’t stand a chance, greatly outnumbered by warriors and mages, the filthy buggers charged us at a full gallop. There were a lot of them, so it did take a fair amount of time to zap, hack, smash, and incinerate them all. At the end of it, none of us had suffered more than a few scrapes and bites, which were treated immediately to keep the victims from contracting a nasty disease.

                This little grey cloud of delay had a silver lining. Troll fat is a valuable substance used for crafting potions, waterproofing wooden structures, deep-frying food, and greasing the head of a stupid child when it got stuck in between the bars of someone’s fence (but enough about me). The oily hair, dense bones, teeth, and other parts of the trolls fetch a good price too. It was agreed that leaving them all as they were would be a terrible waste, and since we were all due for a short breather soon anyway, we might as well stay where we were and gather what would make us a good amount of gold in Taneth.

                We all took turns rinsing the blood and grit from our armor and weapons in the river water—which Lucien insisted on boiling first in order to kill off harmful bacteria—and working together to harvest and store the valuable contents of the trolls, discarding the rest into a fire heap. Between it all, every man and beast had a chance for hydration and a good quick meal. But aware that we were bound to have more encounters along the way, we didn’t waste time for anything else before getting back on the road.

 

                A couple miles past Roseguard, there was a large group of lions cooling off in the shade of tall Banyan trees, only a few feet from the edge of the road. We were sure that the scent of troll meat, which lingered despite a thorough rinse, would tempt them to approach us. We had at least two pairs of eyes for every side of the cart, in case the group we could see were there to distract us from the real stalkers. Naturally, Lucien was the only one that didn’t seem anxious. In a calm voice, he instructed us to “Stay alert, but remain calm; keep an eye on them, but do not look directly into their eyes; have a firm grip on your weapons, but do not raise them.” All trusted LaChance and did as they were told, so the lions simply watched us roll by.

 

                “Well... that’s a first.” Vicente said, with a faint whistle of relief.

                “Yeah… you know… it just dawned on me that we haven’t had a single animal attack this entire time.” Levik said.

                “Most animals are smarter than those trolls we ran into.” Lucien answered, keeping his head turned towards the pride. “They see a caravan this huge and know it to be an impossible hunt.”

                “Ahh... right.” Levik seemed satisfied with the answer and went back to his paperwork.

 

                "Look!" Antoinetta called out, pointing to the horizon. "It's Taneth! We're almost there!"

               

                There were grateful smiles and happy chatter all around. Earlier, everyone was making the same complaints they had made the previous night—about body stench, the unforgiving heat of the desert sun, and sand somehow getting into even the most impossible places. It did not have to be the magnificent splendor that it was to be a welcome sight. It was about the same size as Rihad and had a similar design, except it appeared to be built into the sandstone mountains and hills that edged the steep shoreline, with a few small settlements scattered along the remaining path.

 

                "Let's not celebrate until we get there," I told everyone. "Because you know that 'almost there' is on the list of famous last words."

                "She's right." Ocheeva agreed. "We still have a little ways to go. Even now, anything can happen. Stay on your guard!"

                "Relax, Achiever!" Farwil said to her.

                "It’s ‘Ocheeva’, Sir-Knight." She corrected. " _Oh-chee-vah_."

                "Sorry! _Ocheeva_." Farwil cleared his throat. "Whatever it is that dares to attack, will get the surprise of their shortened lives! HAZZAH!"

                I groaned, and it came out louder than I meant it to be.

                "What's the matter, M'Lady??" Farwil asked.

                "An... _old complaint_." I answered.

 

                There was something else in the distance that had caught our attention. Off to the side of the road, near the south end of the Fork River Bridge, there was what appeared at first to be a small camp set up with a huge bonfire in the middle. It was nothing too unusual—we would pass one every mile or two along the edges of the path that bent and twisted around the rocky incline. But the smoke, which became like a heavy fog as we got closer, had an unsettling stench; a nauseating mixture of burnt flesh that was not of an animal, tar, leather, and other materials that no one would put in a campfire. When we were a couple feet away, it became apparent that it was not a camp, but a large caravan that had been attacked very recently. The five long wagons were completely demolished, and strewn around them were dozens of broken bodies.

                "By the gods." Farwil gasped, with honest sorrow in his voice, as he clutched the blue hood that was draped around the front and held it over his mouth. He then turned to the driver and called out “Someone might still be alive. We must stop!”

                "Sir-Knight, no... we need to keep going. Whatever did this might still be here!" Bremman warned him.

                "I'm sure they are, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take!"

                 Lucien grabbed Farwil’s arm just as he moved forward. “If you insist on searching for survivors, you must allow me to go in your stead! This may be a trap... and you know that, between the two of us, I’m the only one that has a keen eye for them.”

                “Then go.” Farwil commanded with a nod, and anxiously watched Lucien start with cautious steps toward the carnage and check each body for a sign of life. Farwil seemed to be holding more hope than the rest of us for finding any survivors. But his countenance fell when Lucien returned alone and without any haste. As he gripped one of the handles, about to climb back aboard, he looked up at Farwil and said flatly “Everyone’s dead. Let’s keep moving.”

                “We’re going to just leave them all here? They need a proper burial!” Farwil exclaimed.

                “We’ll pass along word to the authorities in Taneth and they’ll see to that. Please, Sir-Knight, we cannot delay a minute lo—”

                Lucien was stopped by a small sound in the roaring wind. We all kept still and listened hard, trying to figure out what it was and if it should be a concern of ours.

                “Peafowl maybe?” Bremman had guessed.

                Lucien didn’t respond, stiff as a post as he listened for a few seconds longer. The wind had lifted his hood up and betrayed the change of expression on his face—the cold indifference had melted into a look of horror I hadn’t seen since the Market District Massacre.

                “No.” He huffed, then whirled around and ran at full speed back to the raid site.

                "Sir! WAIT!!" Teinaava cried out, but it didn't even slow LaChance down. He, Ocheeva, and I leapt out of the cart and chased after him.

 

                “Dear gods!” I cried out, as we got close enough to identify the sound, which was coming from one of the wagons that was set on fire. It was not a peafowl.

                Lucien turned over the burning debris in his way and darted into the wagon, then reemerged with a tiny dunmer newborn in his arms; he was naked and covered in ash, but didn’t appear to have any injuries.

                “Lucky little bugger.” Teinaava said, pointlessly waving the swirls of smoke away from his face as he peered at him.

                “No.” Lucien said, unfastening the cloak from his cuirass and swaddling the child with it. He then held him tight against his chest with the right arm, while drawing his sword with the left. “They spared his life in order to use him as bait. Be ready for an ambush.”

 

                Just as we started back to the cart, a large group of scruffy men and women in leather armor emerged from the steep embankment of the river and charged towards us. They weren’t nearly as imposing as Druin’s mercenaries, but they swarmed around the cart before we could get the child to the safety of the hold, presenting the challenge of protecting him _while_ killing everyone that attacked us on the way back. Ocheeva, Teinaava, and I came together as a single ‘meat shield’ to take the brunt of the assaults as we plowed our way down; the twins guarded the front while I guarded the rear (stop laughing, pervert!). It was mostly successful. One bandit burst through the sheet of smoke and attacked Lucien from his right side. To shield the newborn from it, Lucien let himself take a hard strike to the shoulder, but thankfully it did not go through his armor. He countered the strike by turning his body in the opposite direction, with the blade of his sword turned downward, and sliced through the bandit’s throat as he completed a full spin and continued running.

               The mages lit up the area around the cart with bolts of lightning and blasts of fire. In the initial attack, at least a quarter of the assailants were either roasted alive or blown to pieces. Those who survived were knocked off their feet and disoriented, giving close-ranged fighters the opportunity to charge and bombard them. Blood and body parts fell upon us all like rain and hailstones. Because Vicente had always been cautious about exposing himself, I could only imagine he was snacking on a lot of it. It was a perfect opportunity for the vampire to feast; with the combination of smoke—from the carts and everything set on fire by the mages—and the cloud of dust stirred up by the battle, it became increasingly difficult to make out objects beyond a couple feet in front of us.

               Just as we got to the center of the action, M’raaj-Dar had finished the last of them with a streak of lightning shooting out from his hands, stringing through all of them at once. But we remained on our guard for a couple minutes longer, just in case there were more lurking around, laboring to catch our breath in the toxic plume. Once sure that it was all clear, we turned around and climbed back into the cart.

 

              “Sir,” Teinaava huffed, turning to Lucien, “before we go, shouldn’t we see if they have anything—?”

              “No, Teinaava.” Lucien answered. “We linger here a second longer, we’ll either have to fight more bandits or a respiratory illness. Plus, we need to get to Taneth and have the situation with the child sorted out as soon as possible.”

              “He’s right.” I cut in. “Besides, we’ve enough from the trolls to make us more than enough gold anyway.”

 

              “Was eet wordth it??” M’raaj-Dar growled. I could tell the same question was on the others’ minds, but they were less eager to cast judgement upon their Speaker. It couldn’t have been anything but the intense desert conditions driving M’raaj-Dar to the point of having such audacity.

              Lucien didn’t give a verbal response. The murderous glare he gave the khajiit was enough to check his insubordinate attitude; he averted his gaze and sank back submissively, and I had to disguise the laughter of delight that I couldn’t contain with a heavy cough.

              Lucien used his free arm to pull himself back onto the cart, then fetched his waterskin and a soft clean cloth from his bag to wash off the ash and blood from the newborn, whom still fussed and wriggled frantically.

             “By the Nine! You ask if it was it worth it??” Farwil spat at M’raaj-Dar. “What the hell kind of question is that?? You think LaChance should’ve just left the baby there to burn to death??”

             M’raaj-Dar just shook his head.

 

                "I agree with what Farwil said this morning.” Fjorgard said. “For a smart guy like you, ya sure do act a fool lots."

                "He was a fool for the right reason this time!" Farwil argued, looking like he was about ready to smack Fjorgard upside the head. "I'd have been a fool for that child and any other innocent... and I expect all my knights to have the same attitude!"

                "Right-right… but now what are we going to do? We’re not going to have him tag along the whole way! Isn’t it enough that we have the bosmer making so much godsdamn noise! Now we have to put up with all that crying too... by the Hoarfather, he's going to attract more of them damnable ruffians!"

                “I’ll tell you what we’re _not_ doing.” I said. “We’re not going to just dump him in some hellhole orphanage! We’re going to make sure he has a good home before we leave!”

                “And how much time will that set us back?” Telaendril asked. “Every minute of delay threatens the success of this mission!”

                The conversation had erupted into a chaotic cluster of loud and heated arguments between everyone, but it all came to a sudden halt by the Speaker.

 

                “ _SILENCE!! All of you!!_ " Lucien roared, as he took his eyes off the child for a moment to give everyone a beastly scowl. Everyone who was not already sitting was backed into their usual place by the rattling power in his command, and none of us dared to utter another word. The only one who made any sound was Farwil, giving the signal to the driver to get the horses going by giving the back of his seat a few loud pats.

 

~*~

 

                 Until we were about half-way to Taneth, there wasn’t even a gentle whisper exchanged between anyone. By the time LaChance seemed relaxed enough to tolerate the chatter again, we had little will to speak. We were all so transfixed by the soothing power of his voice, which reduced the child's frantic crying to little cooes and squeaks, as he hummed various songs without a pause between them. After a while, I took my eyes off the child for a moment to look around and noticed that his lullabies had put half the crew to sleep.

 _The Voice of the Emperor._ I thought, nearing my own defeat. _That’s what they call this power. Indeed… the imperial side is strong with him._

                "Careful." I said with a yawn. "You'll make the driver join the snoozefest too."

                Lucien just grinned, still keeping his eyes on the newborn. I peered over his shoulder to look at the adorable little peanut and sighed “By the Abecean… look at how tiny the fellow his… he was born very early.”

                I was aware at that moment of the combined weight of our quest, the mandatory training, and the concerns of the orphan. I was so sore and battle-weary that I almost had a mental shutdown trying to think about how we could balance it all. “If you don’t mind my echo of Fjorgard’s question… exactly _what are_ we going to do?” I asked him.

                “The very first thing we must do when we get to Taneth is focus on giving him proper feeding and wash. It would be ideal to get a room at an inn that has a cradle, but I don’t expect us to be that lucky. As for everything else, it depends on how helpful the townspeople are going to be.” Lucien removed one of his black leather gloves and let the hungry newborn gnaw on his thumb. “Worry not, Small One… we’ll be there soon.”

                Lucien went back to humming more songs, while I hovered close over the newborn in quiet admiration of the paternal warmth radiating from the Speaker. I began to think about how remarkable it was that the deadliest hands in all of Tamriel could be to some the safest and most comfortable place in the world; that one who would not blink before agreeing to kill for Sithis and the Night Mother would also not hesitate to save someone without needing a selfish reason.   

                Then, within minutes, I finally lost the battle and fell hard into a deep sleep, aware only for the first couple seconds into blackness that my head had fallen onto a soft fabric that covered something firm and warm.

 

**End of Part VII**


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